My Purpose for Writing
I write, for my hands are made for war. My pen is the double edged sword that brings about the healing and transformation so many desire.
I write because of the children whose voices get lost in the crowd of adults. For the women hiding in the shelter from the abuse of their lover; for the teenager who felt unwanted; for the girl who never knew what love was and grew into a woman finding it in all the wrong relationships. For the kid who was molested at the hands of someone they thought they could trust; for the brother or sister at the local church who were lied on and whose reputation was falsely smeared by innuendoes from those in the pulpit all the way to back door. Yes – we’re talking about church hurt.
I write because years ago as a teen, I wanted to take my life, but an Angel stopped me. Yes, it was a theophany, not a ghost, familiar spirit, or a mortal, but an Angel with the most loving eyes no words could describe. That angel prevented me from drinking a bottle of rubbing alcohol by covering my mouth with their hand and the alcohol flowed down my chin into my lap, soaking my clothes.
It was during this time that I learned the words I write will cut the heads off of the demonic oppressors and all forms of negative influencers that surrounds each one of us. I write the plays so those who won’t step foot in a church, synagogue, or mosque can receive a dose of inspiration from a loving man named Jesus in neutral territory. I’ve stripped them of their excuses so they can come “see and hear about a man.”
I write my books to inspire people to rewrite the negative history that life gave them. I write about the evil spirits that control you and about the fictional characters that other authors “create.” I write to make the stage called Earth profoundly aware that we’re more than conquerors.
I write, for it helps set the captives free; and once upon a time, one of those captives was me.
For the true statements above I present the purpose of why I write.