In terms of the Orwell piece, I immediately related to him with the middle child syndrome. He writes of imaginary friends and lavish tales to accommodate for a sense of loneliness being stuck in the middle and rarely seeing his father, and I almost wonder if he is talking about me. I started writing when I was very young like him and even won a fairy-tale story-writing contest when I was 8. I won a rare doll that still is sitting in a box in storage somewhere. When he talks about his inner monolouge, I am almost relieved to hear that someone else does this- other than JD from Scrubs- because I constantly imagine myself in the midst of a story. My imagination running wild with all types of scenarios of what reality might really be like. I have kept a diary my whole life and have written every strange thought that pops into my head and this has become the written version of my story. He also talks about a “demon” that drives you to write and sometimes when I write I feel this same sense as if I need to keep writing and get everything out so its not trapped inside my mind.
As for the Joan Didion piece, I did not enjoy it as much . I did not get a sense of why she was a writer in the same sense that Orwell spoke of it. Instead it almost seemed that with her prose and her detail that you got a strange sense of the innerworkings of her mind, and in that way one was able to decide if she was a writer or not. To me, her piece does not so much answer the question of ‘why I write”, but rather attempts to prove that she is in fact a writer.