Believe it or not, I was a shy kid, I found it easier to express my emotions through my writing and my fiction became my strongest venting place.
If I was angry, I’d write angry scenes. If I was upset, I’d weep through the eyes of my characters. I explored emotions and reactions, searched for solutions, and distracted myself from my life, all through the written word.
I pretty well moved into my early stories and stayed there as long and as often as I could. I fell asleep each night, there in my fictional worlds. I woke and slipped within my story again before even getting out of bed. Then I wondered why I missed so much in school, why I didn’t hear instruction and why my report card always said, “Must try harder.”
Over the years I found my own strengths, founded in solid experience (much of it taken aboard for the sake of my writing), but still the habit remains – I automatically step inside my current story as easily as breathing, frequently throughout the day. It’s such a part of me now, I’d be lost if it ever went away.
Was I introverted? Yes. I don’t regard myself that way anymore, although I do remain reclusive.
So, is writing a method of our survival? For some of us, undoubtedly. It’s certainly a method of our expression.
Some of us even get so good at it that we can remain there. Now, I like that! 😀