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People often ask me why I write. I always thought it was an odd question. I mean that’s what I do, I don’t really know if I have ever had a reason for it, at least not a good one. There are some things in life you just do. I respond by asking them, ‘why do you eat’? ‘Why do you breathe’? I write to live that is the simple truth and reality. It is part and parcel of my existence. Writing is nourishment for my soul, it is life itself.
First, I suppose it would be fair to say that to be a writer with any sort of regularity you have to be a little cagey. I mean c’mon, there just isn’t much normal about locking yourself up in a room with various forms of caffeine, booze and other stimulants for hours, even days on end just for sake of crafting a story that the rest of humanity will probably never even get to read. Even more disturbing, to attempt to make a living as a writer one has to have several screws loose. Generally speaking to even get a rejection letter in the mailbox is a major achievement. Most of those ‘in charge’ in the literary world would be hard pressed to be gracious enough to even respond to a query letter. So whenever I do get a response letter or a kind ‘thank you for your submission’ rejection, I file it in the success pile. At least they read enough of my submission to acknowledge it’s not for them.
If I were in the terrible position that I was unable to express myself by use of the written word I would be lost in this world. More lost than I sometimes already am. Admit it or not we are all too some degree lost out here in the wilderness of the universe. I have been lost a good portion of my own life, as far back as I can remember, more at certain times than others. Writing is how I find my way back to the world whenever I am lost out there in the vastness of the wilderness. Words are the mile markers that indicate the distance I have traveled in life and writing the road map that leads me home every time. It’s all about connecting the dots. It has never failed me.
Currently I find myself in a good part of the universe. However I am certain that on my journey through life I will at some point again find myself on not so friendly terms with life. That’s all part of our journey. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. The difference is some of us are not afraid to admit it, accept it, even embrace it and work on our insecurities. As a writer I have more than my share of insecurities and plenty to spare should you need some. Feel free to pick a few up at the door on your way out.