Why we write

For each of us, there is a different reason.whether it's passion or work.For me it's something deep in my blood. My mother wrote. When I was six.she started a story about a sixteen year old princess. That princess' name was Kaycee. My initials. My mother even had a name she wrote under. J lone feather. I was six at the time and can still remember the sound of the type writer and the warm glow of the room.

That must be why I write. My mother never finished her story and part of me must be trying to finish it for her . It has to be the reason that at the age of twelve I begged my grandma for a type writer of my own. It was huge, gray, and bulky but I can remember countless summer days spent in front of it. My thoughts strong onto the paper.

It seemed that the more books I read, the more I want to write. Other people s words inspiring my own. This is why I write. It's in my very soul and blood. It's no different then the wind beneath an eagle's wings.