Writing, my refuge

Why I write: a few words on the quiet need to put on paper what the heart keeps in silence.

Some emotions never find their words out loud. Things we feel so strongly and yet cannot name in front of anyone, not even ourselves. For me, writing has always been the place where they can finally exist, without being asked to justify themselves.

I write because I believe in silent bonds, the ones we don't always name, yet that hold us upright. I write for second chances, for discreet loves, for the resilience that transforms a life without making a sound. I write for the glances we failed to hold on to, and for those we find again, sometimes, years later.

Before it was a craft, writing was a hiding place. A notebook slipped under the bed, pages I never meant to show anyone. It has stayed, I think, that very same gesture: taking shelter in order to finally be true.

Every novel begins with a scene. An image, a glance, a sentence left hanging. Then the characters take over and lead me somewhere I never expected. That, I think, is the most beautiful part of the craft: letting yourself be surprised by what you thought you knew. You set out with a plan, and you arrive elsewhere, often further, sometimes truer.

I also love the idea that the reader, on closing the book, keeps something that wasn't quite theirs. A sentence, a feeling, a character they'll keep thinking about on the train or before falling asleep. Perhaps that, in the end, is the real reason to write: not to be left alone with what you felt.

And you, what pushes you to write? Or, if you don't yet, what holds you back?

Thank you for being here, in this little world. I can't wait to share what comes next with you.