In various journals, writers have been talking about why they became writers. I’m not sure I have any one answer for this, but here are some of my reasons:
– I write because I’ve always wanted to find my way into other worlds, and this is as close as I’ve been able to get
– I write because I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like to be other people, and this is as close as I’ve been able to get
– I write because I grew up in a chaotic-if-loving household, and I was looking for someplace quiet and alone
– I write because I was once a lonely child, looking for friends
– I write because there are still lots of other lonely children out there, looking for friends
– I write because it’s fun
– I write because I like to play with words
– I write because at some point, playing pretend games was no longer enough
– I write because I realized years ago it was one of the few things I had a chance of genuinely being good at, and I wanted to do something I had a chance of being good at
– I write because I want to be heard
– I write because I want to know what happens next
For years, though, I never believed I was someone who had to write, but simply someone who chose to write, for all that I get grumpy as all get when I’m not writing. I’m still not sure there’s such a thing as having no choice but to write, though at this point I’ve invested so much into doing so that I’d have a really, really hard time turning back.