Why Write?

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of getting a sneak peek at a new book by my most favorite author—the one who inspired me to write. I was thrilled and blown away by his latest novel-in-the-works. Shh, don’t tell anyone, but I’m going to share a snippet with you here:

Frindifel was a great Highthur, almost as good as my father, not some murding Orc or a lazy Elf or one of those stubby Dwarves. He patted Hina’s mane. “Just a bit further,” he said.

What did I like so much about him? Maybe it was his wizard-looking aspects: his cloak and all that gray hair.

Okay, okay, so it’s more than a little Hobbity. And I’m not sure you can rightfully use Orcs unless you are J.R.R. Tolkien. And no, I don’t know what murding is, but I do so hope it’s not a misspelling and was supposed to be “murdering”. “Murding” conjures the Dark Ages and makes me wonder—is it a crime of gluttony? Poor hygiene? I don’t know, but that alone makes me want to read more.

This writer’s previous book featured a trio of friends battling villains from Greek mythology. The one before that was about a most noble hamster. You may have guessed by now my favorite author is Noble Hamster, my eleven-year-old.

When I read his stuff, I’m struck by its innate magic and I say to him, “You must write.”

“It’s not that great.” He shrugs and wanders off to play Minecraft.

Yeah, I’m biased. I won’t argue that. But to me, he does so much right in just those five sentences. Showing rather than telling, varying sentence length and structure, elegantly mixing dialogue with narrative, gently weaving in scene and setting… And forgive me this shameless mom-moment when I say–I think the kid has voice, that thing no one can teach. I think he has it in spades and I’m more than a little jealous at the ease with which he scribbled this off. C’mon people, he’s eleven.

From time to time, when I was in school, a teacher would pull me aside, clutch my elbow and give me and intense look. “You must write,” they’d say. At the time, I figured they were just trying to keep me from sneaking out to the parking lot to smoke cigarettes. Believe me, I wasn’t penning anything half as luminous as the stuff my son writes.

I’ll probably never know what prompted their advice, but I know what I want to say to my son: Don’t waste it. Put your words to the page–because you can. Share your hopes and dreams and visions; bring your inner world to life. Maybe you’ll never capture an audience beyond yourself. But if you possess the desire or talent to write, or some happy combination of both, just do it.

And yes, I know ‘just do it’ is not original.

And no, I’m not just taking to him, I’m talking to you.

And I still hope he meant “murding” Orcs.