Why do I keep writing when I could be doing anything else in my free time? There are great movies to watch and many wonderful books I have yet to read. There’s a fabulous gym I can walk to in 5 minutes, get healthy exercise, and soak in the lovely jacuzzi. I could do this every day if I wanted to. I could cook something yummy while listening to cool tunes. I could volunteer to help at the animal shelter or even assist other (shudder) people. I work all day and have a side gig too, all of which requires me to stare at a computer screen, and yet… in my free time… I’m still staring at the screen.
What drives me? Why do I want to create fictional scenes of made-up characters who move around an imaginary stage like my Barbie dolls of days gone by? Why do I get so much pleasure out of fabricating dialog? Sometimes I recreate my own stories, in a better way, with more excitement, love, sex, and material success… other times I plunge my poor protags down into the valleys of disaster. Still other times, I don’t even want my stories to resemble anything from real life. I want them to be a cloud of cotton candy spun entirely from the machinery of my mind.
Maybe it’s a form of control. Everything I write, whether fiction or poetry, is under my command. No one does a thing or says a word without my OK. Every sunset is comprised of the colors I decide. Physical appearance, homes, jobs, food, relationships… all are mine to amplify or destroy. I’m the master puppeteer, and that’s so satisfying when reality is one black swan after another and whatever you do to prepare yourself for the next thing, it’s always something else. But my written world behaves as I wish. Except when it doesn’t…
Bottom line is I don’t know what drives me, why I’m compelled to write day after day after day. A day without writing anything is a sad day for me, a failed day. I know it’s neither money nor fame that drive me because I’ve never found those via writing, and yet I don’t feel discouraged in the least. My Amazon KDP sales chart has flatlined ~ I haven’t had one sale of any book during this whole last cycle. But am I going to work on my next novel this weekend?
Image from Twilight; dialog is parody.
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