If someone asks me why I write, it always feels like a trick question.

Not because I don’t have an answer. But because the answer is complicated and half of it lives in my subconscious. The truth is, I’ve always had a tab open in my mind that’s playing some kind of made-up story. No matter what I’m doing, there’s a parallel narrative running in the background — like a quiet side quest only I can hear.

Sometimes it’s a fully original plot sparked by something I overheard in a coffee shop. Sometimes it’s a piece of fanfiction in my head, filling in the blanks between TV show seasons. Most of the time, I don’t write them down. But the stories are always there.

At first, I thought I was just entertaining myself. Now I realize: it’s deeper than that.

It’s therapy.

Writing Is Like Doing a Puzzle

You know how people hyper-focus when working on a jigsaw puzzle? You’re not doom-scrolling, not thinking about bills, not stressing over that awkward thing you said last week. You’re just searching for the next piece. You lose yourself in it.

That’s what writing feels like for me.

It starts with one scene — usually the inciting incident. Of course, it has to be exciting. I need it to make me feel something. Once I have that piece, I’m hooked. I need to know how the protagonist got there. What led up to this moment? What happens next?

And suddenly, I’m in puzzle mode. Focused. Curious. Present.

I don’t start stories with outlines. I start with a spark. Then I build outward, one piece at a time. And every time a piece clicks into place — when a scene connects, or a plot problem untangles — it’s like a hit of dopamine. I feel it in my chest. Pure joy. And once I figure out the main points, I outline the whole story.

Storytelling Is My Brain’s Favorite Workout

It’s problem-solving in disguise. Fun, creative, unpredictable problem-solving.