Another thousand words? Why?

Why write 50,000 words in one month. Why write anything at all. Why do I even get up in the morning.

It seems to me that all three of those questions are linked. What is the point in living if I am not going to change someones life. What is the point in getting out of bed if I am not going to make the world a better place. What is the point in being if I don't cause joy.

This world isn't an easy place to live. My friends aren't superficial, they have problems. I have problems. Times feel like I am sitting on a stationary bike, trying desperately to get some where, but all I am doing is tiring myself out. So why try. Why do anything.

Not an easy question to answer. If I push to hard into the depths of human emotion I always find myself coming up short. There is no easy answer, if there is an answer at all. Life is what I make it. Life is what I strive for. I can either continue to live as robot, repeating the same monotonous motions. Or I can throw myself into the world and live. Not just survive. But truly live. To let emotions take me on the crazy ride, to never stifle my instincts. To laugh with joy and the simple things. Take a step back and really find the important things. To find my priorities so I never lose them.

And that is why I write. Because when my fingers are flying across the keyboard (occasionally standing still) in that moment I am living. I am sending crazed monkey pirates after my main character and maybe she escapes, maybe she doesn't. But in that moment I let down all my walls. Writing is an avenue to expression everything. A way to show what I find myself unable to explain. Concrete evidence that I am a living, breathing person. Not just another robot in a cage.

Writing is my way of screaming to the world.

"I am alive, here is the proof. And you cannot stop me!"

It's my small, almost unnoticeable, way of staking a claim in the future. Of creating a better tomorrow. A tomorrow that is a little closer, a little better. A new place.