Why do I write?A question I've asked myself a lot in the last several days, weeks and months. And strangely, of all the answers I've given, all of them and none of them seem right. It's hard to put into words (sadly for someone who wants to call themselves a writer) why I want to write down the thoughts, words and stories that come into my head.
Why do it when I'll beat myself up for not turning a phrase like David Guterson or David Hilton, or depress myself for not telling a story like Peter Robinson or Craig Johnson? Is there something inside me that enjoys emotional self-flagellation?
I recently found myself accused of being a "published failed writer," which I found insulting, yet kind of funny at the same time. I'm published, yet, I've failed? Isn't being published the opposite of failure in this business called writing? And, it struck at the heart of the question, "Why do I write?"
I could say, "because I want to be rich and famous," but I know the odds of being struck by lightning are greater, so it's not for money and fame. I could say, "to get the girl," but frankly, I've already got the girl, and she has no delusions about my impending fame or fortune. It could be, "to see my name on the cover of a book when I walk into a bookstore," but that satisfaction is much more fleeting than it sounds. "To sign books, to meet my fans, to travel the world..." would all be convenient and comforting answers, and yet, as nice as each of those sound, they are not why I write.
Why do I write? I write for me. Let others choose for themselves to come along for the ride.