Why Do I Write?

My Creative Nonfiction class has given us the assignment to write five starting paragraphs to the question, "Why Do You Write?" Ordinarily, I would have found this assignment cool and fascinating to see what I come up with. This may still be the end result, but right now. . .

I am aggravated. How many times have I been asked this question? How many times have I explored it on my own? And now it's become redundant. Irritating, even. Of course, I would probably begin by assigning this as the first topic too. None of my aggravation is directed at the professor, or the class. Just the question. "WHY DO I WRITE?"
It stares at me from the page, so non-threatening, so innocent. It's a valid enough of a question. Usually it's the first one to be asked any author, right ahead of, "Where do you come UP with this sh**?" Or so declares interview upon interview with any of my favorite authors.

So, why DO I write? To tell the truth, outside of class assignments, I can't remember the last time I wrote just for myself (outside of the occasional journal session at night). I can't recall the last time I attempted something fictional (which is first and foremost my true love in writing) or even nonfictional (again, aside from the journal entries, which too have become rare). I know I love writing. Why don't I sit down and do it? Is it a time issue? The amount I spend on Facebook tells me no.

I think it's because I'm lazy. I've gotten into the habit of 'not-writing' so much that it's easier for me to lay down and just think about what I would write instead of actually doing it. This doesn't go well with my "Just Do It, Already!" New Years resolution. So how do I break the chain?

Just do it?

Anyway, here is what the assignment turned out to be:

Why Do I Write?