why i write
I have a special picture saved in my phone.
That picture is of me. It reminds me why I write—why I’m a storyteller.
It’s a picture of four-year-old me happily barreling down a Disneyland bridge, ponytails swinging and an over-sized shirt tied behind me. I love this memory.
I thought deeply about the possible symbolism in this picture. As I analyzed this simple picture, I felt like an English teacher insisting Longfellow meant purity when he said Evangeline wore white pajamas. There’s nothing to it—this picture is a fun memory and nothing more than that.
But what I love most about this picture is how accurately it represents me.
I have always been a passionate person. As a kid, I had anger issues and countless hyperfixations. Add a vivid imagination, and you’ve got “potential,” as they say. I had no idea I was such a determined person. It took me a while to find the right things to direct that passion and imagination toward, considering I wasn’t a big reader or writer as a kid. To be honest, I was a pretty stupid kid.
So writing was never on my mind.
The Beckoning
I realized I could write when I watched a movie called The Man Who Invented Christmas. I was 13 and any hyperfixation I discovered became my cornerstone for the next 6 months, but this one hit differently.
Writing wasn’t just a hyper-fixation or a fun little hobby. It became my dream, my calling. I prayed about it, too, and soon realized that, out of all the talents (or lack thereof) I possessed, writing was the best one with which to serve Jesus.
I didn’t think much about what I would be when I grew up, but at 13-years-old God told me He wanted me to write.
So I wrote (sort of).
With many, many story ideas and a notebook filled with sketches, names, and quotes, I called myself a writer. It took me a couple years to actually start writing, though.
The Beginnings
I wrote many essays and things for school and I loved it, although the deadlines haunted me. I first started to write fiction when I went to writing camp at 15. I’d written scenes and snippets before, but I had never written a full story or played with prose and description.
At camp, I was tasked to write a 3-page short story.
It was terrible.
The idea was incredible, and I won the award for “Most Original Story,” it’s just that the writing itself belonged in a trash can.
After that, I really committed to writing more fiction and chasing my dreams of authorship. I joined the Do Hard Things movement after reading the book, and even tried 3 times to become published on their blog. Using the ideas from their movement, I figured, “If I want to become an author, why am I not doing it now?”
In September 2023, I started my blog on Blogspot, titled It’s a Writing in Progress. I used that to document my progress for NaNoWriMo that November and started my Instagram page that October. My platform grew slowly, and the entire process was one big rough patch.
But it was my first steps into my author journey, and the first steps in honing my craft.
So writing became a central part of me. I can’t say I wrote little books as a kid, like many authors say, but I was passionate. It just took me a minute to find the right passion, and I soon tunneled that into my platform and writing.
That’s the reason why I write: because it’s an insatiable passion for me to tell stories. I feel it as I look at this picture of little me, careless and joyful, fueling an endless imagination in the Happiest Place on Earth.
Feelings ‘N Stuff
There’s more to this picture, too. Not only do I see a passionate me, but I see a lonely, awkward, and yearning me. Now, I wasn’t struggling with anything in this picture. I wasn’t lonely, depressed, and whatnot—I was 4. The biggest worry I had was if Mom made something I didn’t like for dinner.
Years down the line, I’d struggle with things—sin, loneliness, confusion—I wanted to “be myself,” but “being myself” was a little vague to me. I was loud, obnoxious, and scared. I was confident in being myself, but also scared to be myself. I felt like, whichever I did, I was annoying, wrong, stupid, and every other negative thing you could think of. I was a young teenager.
I wanted to let my passion for things flow, but would be belittled for it. “Nerd” became my heartbreak. But I couldn’t just suppress that passion and love for life—I didn’t want to be fake, and I didn’t want to be like everyone else (it’s cliche, I know). My big heart cared about everything.
You could say I was a young, awkward teenager who just wanted to be “understood,” if I may use Disney Channel lingo. I wanted to be that version of me running down that bridge, unaware that anyone was watching.
I had a lot to say, and I still do.
So that’s why I write—I want to share my heart, passion, and thoughts through this wonderful thing called writing. Because writing is the only way I can express that insatiable desire for everything beautiful, and it’s the best way for me to serve my Savior, Jesus Christ.
So when someone asks me why I write, I show them this picture.
