"I wrote my way out"- Hamilton

As I reader I've always been interested in what makes a writer write. What is it? When did they know it's what they wanted to do? Was it a preternatural calling? An accident? Did it come from an area of need or want? An experience that had to be recorded? An opinion that had to be shared? What made them put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, voice to record? In whatever way they chose to create their worlds and tell their stories, why did they, and why do they do it?

Many years ago, 1998 to be exact, we lost our twins at 19 weeks of pregnancy. In 1999 we lost a son to stillbirth at 37 weeks. In 2000 we had an early miscarriage at 8 weeks. We smiled one day but then blinked and it was gone.

I had been a reader my entire life and loved my creative writing class in high school; I had dreamed about writing a book, or simply a writing life in general, as I believe most avid readers do- a possibility out of reach but nice to think about.

And then the losses. So many losses.

In my pain I searched. A searched for a book. I searched for words that would comfort me, help me to understand my grief, help those who loved me to understand what I felt like, the hole I had fallen into. I searched for someone to say it so right, so correctly, that I could breathe it in and be anew. But the books I found didn't work; their words didn't soothe.

Around that time a new pastor came to my church with the idea of forming a writers' group. Call it divine intervention, call it coincidence, call it whatever you'd like. I call it where this all started for me.

I opened a notebook and began.I wrote my own words of pain and grief, sadness and longing and never stopped. Eventually I realized that I had made it to the other side...I wrote my way out.