Why is really WHY we write…

If you are a writer, by which I mean you are writing something the world might see without having to find it in an archeological dig, then I know already that you look at the world through different eyes. You see things, do things, or events happen to you or someone nearby and sparks begin to fly around in your brain; it gives birth to something near tangible, whether it’s the bare beginning of an imaginary tale or the answer to some mysterious part of a work in progress.
Writing never happens ’cause you sat back in your chair, pinched your eyes and wished something to life. If it did then it’s BS (Baloney Sandwich), and you should make that sandwich; if you get lucky–in the process you might cut off a good portion of your finger; now you have something to write.

Just a little while ago, my boy Tobias and I are out adventuring headed for a ride downtown on the light rail, first searching out a place to park which ends up blocks away; the only two paths to the train platform are in the street or along the tracks. What’s more fun for a little boy? Along the tracks of course. Among broken rocks, gravel and umpteen unusual items including one big, no huge, drain grating, possibly the largest he’s ever seen in his three-and-one-half years. He always stops to look into the depths of dark holes for spiderwebs and perhaps whole worlds of things.

What I need to know is how come, in a universe full of reasons, at that exact moment, did his precious little Kazoo choose to leap out of his pocket and down that drain? 
Why not six or two feet before or following? I’ll tell you why. Something otherworldly had to have timed and targeted it to go through those grates to land just out of practical arms reach.
I can only think of one reason the universe decided to gift me with such a spectacular event.
It was not about me or Tobias, not even the Kazoo. It was all about you and all about WHY it leaped from his pocket at that precise moment. It wanted me to wonder WHY. I’m not interested in the mechanics, but perhaps a little curious about mathematical probabilities. The possibility, I assume, is astronomical that along this path at this precise moment it would fall. A message? I like to think of it like that. 
Beyond fodder for writing, there is what many call a higher power, I choose to call him God, plucking away on the strings of this world. Here is the point where you to stop and say, “What a weirdo!” I don’t care. I have heard worse.
But, if you in your sane, rational mind can walk away from something like that without incredible wonder, you are crazier than I and not a writer.
Something as fortunate as that happens and a writer figures he has struck gold. By the way I did retrieve the Kazoo. A little crawling on the ground, a couple of scrapes on my forearms from forcing them farther through than would comfortably fit and it was all worth it just to see Tobias’ joy. The extra credit bonus was all the thoughts I get to process and blend into words, stories, tales and this blog.
If you aren’t a writer, though, you just might’ve been pissed off or irritated. But, then again you wouldn’t likely be reading this, would you?

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