A friend asked me what drives me to write. It took me a long time to answer. And the reply I eventually rendered was hazy and generic. Thinking about it now, however, I don't think there is a particular reason that causes my writing.
Sometimes, while sitting in a cafeteria, I grab a pen and jot down words without a single thought as to their meaning. Most of the posts I have in this blog have been caused by an empty piece of paper, a blank screen and a rather tired mind. I don't think much about what I write. I just write. I don't think that's what the really great writers do. I don't think that's what any truly serious writer would do.
But then again, I'm not really a writer. I am a soul overflowing with words unknown to me and to quench the brimming emotions within me, I must write, I must sing, and dance without stopping to think about the reasons for my actions. What drives me to write is what drives me to live: an eternal force of purpose for my being. I don't think I really have to worry about why I do the things I do, about why words come out of me without my knowing their source because I am already answered for. I am in the hands of a God of Wisdom and Truth.