You often hear the question “Why do you write?” You get various answers from different writers, each reflecting their own views on the process. In this post, I’ll attempt to outlay why I write.
People ask me why I write. The honest answer? I don’t know. I just do: I sit down and tell myself I need to write a cool story, because, well, it’s cool. I tell myself I have an imagination which, when let run wild, can produce a worthwhile read for someone else, and so I bang off a few thousand words and get going. Honestly though, do I mean those things? I can’t say for sure. I’m still sitting down, writing. So that’s one thing.
I like a good story. I think I have many of those in my head, and like to think I’m decent at telling a good story. I guess that’s the main reason I write. There are supplementary reasons, though. Like money. I’ve yet to make any money from my writing, but I’m led more and more to believe that there are people out there who enjoy what I write, and would pay a few dollars to read it. That thought spurs me on to write more, but there are other reasons, too.
It’s a challenge. Writing is hard work, at the end of the day. You can spend hours, days, weeks, or months (some people spend years) on a story, and at the end of it have something that nobody wants to read because they don’t think it’s any good. That’s a hard pill to swallow. I think I’m better than that. I think that each time I sit down to write, I’m a little better than the last time. Sometimes I read a story or book and think to myself, hell, I’m better than this! I’m, challenging myself to fight the terror of failure, of rejection, in writing. The thought of people reading my work and not enjoying it is terrifying.
So, at the end of it all, am I any closer to answering that question? Probably not. It’s not something I can really explain to someone who doesn’t write. But hopefully one day they’ll buy my books, and then they’ll know why. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Why do you write?