I've been thinking a lot lately (yeah, I know, big shocker) about the reasons why I write. I've discussed on here that writing can be an act of arrogance, an act of deceit, and an act of vanity. But today, as I leapt into Coy (the cafe at the centre of my wip) I realized that I was writing as a means of escape.
I've always read to explore. I've been to Paris, to Rome, all over England. I've been to Narnia and Never Never Land. I've been down the rabbit hole and through the looking glass... In books I have met some very good friends who have never, could never, let me down. In books I have been brave, I have been bold, impulsive, and free. In books I am so far away from my life that it comes as a shock to the system when I have to come back to reality.
Today, I got that freedom while writing. I'm sure I've had it before, but it's never been as needed or as noticeable as it was today. I immersed myself in my characters' lives, their motivations, their pain...and for a little while I got to forget my own. Today I found real success in words and scenes being created. I finished a really difficult scene (I'm not terribly experienced at writing battles so I've been avoiding it) and felt like I was on top of the world.
I cannot wait to see where this new headspace takes me...and my story.