Why Do I Write?

This is why...

I ask myself all the time why I write. It’s a question that plagues me, often because I am filled with self-doubt. But the other day, I opened up my chat mail to find this photo and message from Rebby Fortune, “Christine, thank you so much for writing this book. I am chin-deep in disorienting grief. You, me and Ulysses are healing together. 💔❤️‍🩹”

My heart filled with joy. Everything about this note and the photo reminded me that if my words, my art can reach out and touch even one heart it is what I am here to do. The woman who sent this note, Rebby Fortune, is a beautiful soul, an amazingly talented writer and brilliant artist. I love and respect her work. She recently suffered a devastating loss. To know that my work has touched her heart and is helping her heal is the greatest gift I could ever receive. It is the reason I write.

I wrote A One-Legged Cricket when I was in a state of inconsolable grief. Too much had happened for one heart to hold. My father, my favorite uncle, and my beloved grandmother had all left this world in a short span of time. I withdrew from my life and my work. I absolutely could not write and for as far ahead as I could see there was no returning to it. Grief had overtaken me.

One day a little cricket appeared in my life. As I peered closely at him, I noticed he was missing one of his big jumping legs. As if it had been whispered, the name Ulysses came into my head. I reached out for him to climb onto my hand and he did. I took him out to some vegetable barrels on my deck, all the while thinking it would be impossible for him to survive without that leg. When I placed him in the vines he looked back at me with a piercing look and then disappeared into the greenery. I never saw him again.

I fell back into my despair. But something had shifted. I could not stop thinking about him. I could easily imagine the hardships he faced because of the loss of his leg, at a time when I could not face my own, at least not with any thoughts of overcoming them. I imagined him in all sorts of scenarios. They came so fast I started jotting them down. Before I knew it, a story emerged. My heart was beating in the right direction again and a healing was taking place. In giving voice to his story, I faced my own.

The name Ulysses came as a whisper but the little cricket has worn it well. His story has been an odyssey in so many ways. He seems to choose the people he reaches and it delights me when they share what he has meant to them. Has he ever been a best seller, or at the top of the New York Times Best Seller list? Not even for one moment. But does it matter? No. Because the reason I write is found in Rebby’s photo and her message. Seeing the book on her lap, as she settles in to enjoy the read and a special treat, makes my little writer’s heart skip a beat. Thank you R.F. for letting me know that this story about this little cricket touched your heart. This is the reason I write. ❤️