I write because one day my Aunt Maria told me too. We were sitting down together after everyone else had gone to bed, and I was getting worked up into another rant on a common problem in the world. I can’t exactly remember what it was, as it could’ve been any number of things. It could’ve been how there is still a gender divide in the work force between men and women. Or, maybe it was another scandal in the Catholic Church, another priest touching a young boy -the devil’s hypocrisy at its finest demonstration. I’m not sure what it could’ve been because on a day-to-day basis, I find many more things wrong in the world than right. Unfortunately, sensitivity to these world issues, problems which were larger than me, had begun to negatively effect me. They would cause me to digress from normal conversations, into seemingly mindless rants that could, understandably, sometimes scare people away.

My Aunt and me had talked before, and she had played witness to these rants a few times. She knew I was angry over the injustices, and not just a madman shouting into a megaphone, on a podium, at innocent strangers strolling by. She knew I needed a release, an outlet for these emotions, thoughts, and troubles that were constantly flitting through my mind. Of course, I knew she was right, but wasn’t that what I had been doing by entering into these rants? She corrected me, saying these rants were unfocused, and frankly, not very well thought out. She told me that despite those things, I was right, that I should be bothered by these social injustices, and that I needed to direct my energy towards a platform that would allow me to express my ideas coherently. It was during this moment, her staring at me with magnified eyes from behind black and yellow dotted spectacles, looking just crazy enough to be believed, that she said, “Become a writer”.

It was an idea I had never considered before, even though, in my youngest memories I could be found sitting beneath a tree with a copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends. From my Aunt’s words I learned I too had a voice, and that it could be used in the same way as Dickens or Steinbeck, entertaining and delighting thousands with stories steeped in social commentary. I had become enlightened. I realized that I could turn an adverse character trait into something positive. This is the reason I write. It is because it’s not possible for me to accept the convoluted and twisted realities of the world as they are. I realized, that with my writing, I could maybe change the way a person thinks, and thus, make a change for the future. I write because, it allows me to put something transcendent into a world drowning in hell, shaping a grotesque clump into something beautiful, replacing bad with good, ugly with pretty, and maybe allowing for a metamorphosis.