This question was posed in my writers’ group yesterday: Why must you write, and when did you discover you wanted to be a writer? I am grateful to have been asked that question at such a time as this (a season where I’ve let my writing lapse), and below is the answer…a work in progress.

Why do I write? I write because my love compels me to — my fascination and infatuation with the potent potential of words requires that I play with them. I must exercise new and glittery ones at regular intervals — I must find their meaning, absorb them, and receive the transference of verbal power. I am in awe by…