This question obviously has a different answer for every writer out there. For most of us the obsession with the written word started at a very young age. In many cases it was fostered by parents who read us Winnie the Pooh, Rikki Tikki Tavi and Peter Pan. For me, the words that someone else placed on a page became my escape into fantastic worlds full of imagination and life. I was that kid that read under the covers with a flashlight, until my father finally busted me so many time that he threatened to take the batteries out.
So why do I write now? My answer is…because I can’t help it. Like a lot of us out there, a good portion of my adult life has been spent in a grey cubicle under the torturous glare of fluorescent lighting. The issues that I deal with in said cubicle have little to do with imagination or the fantastic worlds of my youth. So now I write for the same reason I read, and incidentally the same reason I delve into crazy, messy art projects at 3 am. I need that creative outlet. I crave it. It pours out of my brain like an unstoppable flood. Writing is one of those things that makes me feel like I am actually living.
And trust me, having a great new plot idea rattling around in your head will make that next three hour meeting a lot more bearable.
So tell me, why do you write?