Writing is a part of me—it’s the way I’m wired. I’ve been writing since I was a kid—poetry, song lyrics, letters to the editor, short stories, and essays. At one time I majored in Journalism wanting to be the next Jessica Savitch.
One year later, I left college to enlist in the United States Air Force, I was usually the go-to-gal for scripted events. Still, none of it answers the question of ‘what drives me to write?’
Is it for money? Hardly, since only a handful of genre authors pull down large paydays. As well, there’s little guarantee a book will sell if it does publish. Arbitrary elements
are usually at work when a book hits the streets—timing and luck being a big part of an author’s success. So, do I write for the fame? Yeah, no… again, only a handful of authors hit that pinnacle. For the rest of us it’s a continual flirtation with obscurity. If not for fame, fortune, or to eke out a living, why in the world do I spend my time agonizing over sentence structure, plot points, pacing, character development, points of view and a happily ever/never after? What is the reason I put me, through continual angst?
I write because I have to–because I am driven by an innate compulsion. Even if I never achieve recognition, earn a boatload of cash, or, scratch out enough of a living to afford a printer cartridge, I will carry on writing. Even if others think it a waste of time, call me a dreamer, belittle my efforts, or, if I drive myself insane on a daily basis searching for one lousy word to complete a sentence, I will carry on writing.
A favorite quote from renowned British journalist, essayist and distinguished author, George Orwell, has always resonated with me;
“Writing a book is a long, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one was not driven by some demon that one can neither resist nor understand.”
And here’s one from me… I was born to write.
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