Write your story. Write because you have no choice: there is something spewing forth and it has no other way to go but out. Write because you have to. Really: write because it is your livelihood, material or otherwise. Write because you have an assignment. Write because there is no alternative.
Write because you have a purpose. Whether that purpose is to write, to write something specific, or to achieve some other purpose which can be achieved by writing.
Write because you have a deadline. Write because time is pushing you, because you are out of time, because you have all the time in the world.
Write because you have a memory. Because you want to remember. Write to photograph a moment, to add color to a picture, to effect a feeling.
Write because you have an agenda. Write because you have facts, because you need facts, because you want to disinform. Write propaganda.
Write words; write sentences, poems, signs, directions, lists, signatures, plays, speeches, essays, précis; novels, treatises, encyclopedias, screenplays, dictionaries, commercials. Write blog posts, graffiti, fiction, informed and insightful comments, and trolls.
Write because you can’t sing. Write because you can’t act. Write because you want to become a writer. Write because you are a writer. Write because you want to become a film director, critic, editor, screenwriter, speechwriter, professor, researcher, historian.
Write because no one else can do what you can. Write because everyone else is doing it. Write because one day you will die and will no longer be able to do it. Write because it is the only way people can remember your way of thinking after you are dead and gone.
Write because you have a point to make, a target to reach or hit. Write because you lack an aim, write to find an objective. Write your journey, write to find your destination. Free-write, write stream of consciousness, write beat, write neat. Write concisely, write profusely; write few words, write many words. Write it all.
Write what you feel, what you see, what you hear, what you smell. Write the mind of others, write your imagination, write worlds unknown. Write to make what does not yet exist, write the unutterable.
Write to discover yourself. Write to describe the journey. Write to change, write to learn, write to measure the distance between youth and wisdom. Write to discern.
Write to play. Write to entertain. Write to disgust, to discuss, to disarray. Write order, and write orders. Write sequences. Write to bring together. Write to build. Write instructions, and write instruction.
Write a joke. Write to laugh. Write to contemplate, to visualize, to illuminate. Write to relax. Write to amuse yourself; write to amaze others. Write to embarass other forms of communications.
Write to keep things alive; let language, ideas, verbs and nouns live for one more writing. Write because you were here.
Write because you can’t stop writing. Write because you are blocked. Write because there is nothing but that stupid window through which you can only see things to write about. Write because others will think you are cool.
Write to get laid. Write because you have never heard of anyone getting laid because they wrote. Write your phone number. Write a note for a dalliance. Write for a moonlight tryst. Write about love. Wrap a feeling in clothing made of words.
Write out of habit. Write out of bad form, out of virtue. Write a spoken portrait. Write a new way of being. Write a philosophy of life.
Write the news, write the comics. Write what you know, and what you don’t know. Write what you want to know. Write your questions. Write your wisdom, your divinity. Write your ignorance, your disheveld dishonesty. Write your disappointment and shame.
Write reality, the strangest fiction. Write all that is left unsaid. Write what is left to say. Write what is needless to say. Write what is most urgent to keep silent. Write a letter of recommendation, a review, a criticism, an elegy, a hymn. Write the painful knots that become stuck in the throat, write the nervous stomachs that find no relief. Write the desolation that strips a heart, the loneliness in a crowd, the light from a candle whose flame flutters in the changing wind and remains lit.
Write because you do not understand, write in order that you may understand. Write to come to an understanding. Write to take a stand.
Write the darkness, write the depths, the heights, the births, the restless punishing road, the lightning, the waves, the beds, the roses, the dirt, the silk, the thread, the needles, the sword. Write the plan, the attack, the retreat, the defense, the strategy, the conquest and the remains. Write the spoils and the spoiled. Write the languages foreign and familiar to every tongue.
Write because she left. Write because he screwed up. Write because you’re drunk. Write the sequel.
Write the story. Just write. Write just what needs be written. Write what deserves to be read. Write for your contemporaries, write for one hundred years; write for eternity. Write for yourself. Write for your readers. Write forever. Write until your very fingers give out, the mouth is dry, the spirit broken, the money spent, the whisky gone, the room empty, the novel over and done with, and your lover out to get cigarettes. Write until there is no more ammo, and no more reinforcements. Write until there is no more fuel, no more down on the pedal. Write until there is no more write.
Write the end. Write what is hard. Write death. Write life. Write long. Write short.
"When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor’s wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn’t believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day, when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking–the first in his life. She told him that he would have to go outside himself and find a switch for her to hit him with.
The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, “Mama, I couldn’t find a switch, but here’s a rock that you can throw at me.”
All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child’s point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone.
And the mother took the boy into her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because if violence begins in the nursery one can raise children into violence.””
Bebe stops drinking from his bottle to offer me his formula. I pretend to drink from his bottle, making sucking noises, and return it to bebe. He continues drinking. Bebe then returns the bottle to me when it is empty, and smiles.
Seven hundred and fifty words. Just write. 750words.com