Meet Chris Redding
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Most writers will tell you that they can’t
not write. I know. Double negative. But it’s true. We can’t just stop writing.
My
husband has been a pilot for years. He doesn’t do it as a job, but as a hobby.
He’s been flying airplanes longer than he’s been driving a car. He cleaned
bathrooms at an airport in exchange for lessons. He once thought he’d never get
to fly again. In some ways it was the end of the world for him.
I told him that is how I would feel if I never
got to write again.
Writing
is as much a part of me as breathing.
Though I think about writing more than I do about breathing.
I
don’t know about how others feel. I can’t speak to that. After I write I feel
as if I’m cranking on endorphins. I’ve been a runner in the distant past. I
swam for exercise and still walk, but none of those activities give me the same
high as writing.
That
probably sounds odd. Oh well. It’s the reality of my existence. Maybe I’m a
writing junkie. Always looking for that next fix. How illicit I have now made
my writing.
When
I don’t write for more than a few days, my head gets odd. The stories must be
written down. If I don’t, then I begin to bump into walls. I unload the
dishwasher and put things in the wrong places. I even lose sleep, which to me
is worse than not eating. And I love to eat.
Writing
is also a large part of my identity. Those rare times that I have thought about
quitting, I could not imagine what I would fill that part of my life with if I
did. I think I would have eventually come back to writing.