Hege Anita Jakobsen Lepri

I write to hear my grandmother’s voice
-and to silence my Mom
I write to meet who I could have been
-and to change who I am
I write to remember the hardest blows
-and to forget the scars READ MORE

Elizabeth Solazzo

I write as though I am whispering in the ear of the one I love. I tell myself the secrets not easily shared with others. I soothe myself with the written word and find the comfort others cannot give me. I pour out grief and sadness over long ago hurts that now matter only to me. I encourage myself through my written words, reassuring a lost little girl that she is loved and perhaps more importantly, liked. READ MORE

Tamara Proschek

Because I have to. There is something about the feeling you get as the pen in your hands leaves its mark on a page, something that reminds you that “I am here”. Of course I am always here, you might say, to which I’d reply, not quite in the same way. How lucky for me that those words rhymed. Writing reminds me and those who write that they are feeling things that they do not know they are feeling, that they know things that they didn’t know they knew. READ MORE

Nadia Greasley

Writing is the Opposite of Letting Go

Writing came to me later, after I had my children, when I was searching for a medium that would help me reflect on life. Ideas of short stories started to pop up in my head while I was at work, so I began to jot them down in a note book, paying attention to my writing voice. The note books fattened as I wrote extensively about plots and characters. I became a closet writer and collected citations, beautiful words like rare flowers, and plenty of writers’ advice to comfort me. READ MORE

John Burns

Initially, I wrote because I couldn’t speak. Well, this is not strictly true. I can speak. Some days I can even speak quite well. But some days I can barely speak at all, and, good or bad, up or down, it’s always a struggle. Let’s just say that an ability to speak is not something I can rely on at any given time. READ MORE

Adrian George Nicolae

I remember back when I was in a theatre, my teacher (the late, great Catalin Naum) asked me and my colleague why we want to be actors. We came up with variations of “we like it and enjoy it”, but Mr. Naum said “because you have something to say.” It wasn’t something I particularly thought about, then again, I was new to the arts at that point, trying to do different things with my life, branching out of my comfort zone, which, funnily enough, I didn’t realize I was doing. READ MORE

Gina Luongo

I write because I lost my leg and my sister within two years of each other. Fighting cancer and surviving a suicide wiped away any trace of life wisdom I thought I had. Loss after loss left me empty and confused and angry. A pen became my sword. It thrust my pain to the surface of the paper from the recesses of my heart. Words flowed. Memories of my last conversation with my sister alive, I recorded quickly after her death. Carrying a journal to every doctor’s appointment calmed me in the endless hours of waiting. Paper was the channel and writing was the balm. READ MORE