I don’t know why I write. I know it relieves pressure, keeps me sane.
I know I write because I enjoy the sense of a beautiful story coming together, to form characters I could shake hands with, and whose company I’d enjoy.
I write because I love the thrill, the wonder of a world within pages where soaring feelings of fear, sorrow, gladness, and even joy can be felt, feelings often unfelt in the real world.
Truth concentrated, I guess.
Finally I think I write because at my centre, I have a conviction, a surety that it’s worthwhile – that I’m not just spinning tall tales, or fun entertainment to last for an evening. But that I’m telling stories like the great movies and books I watched, from Who Framed Roger Rabbit to The Lord of the Rings. Great human tales told in metaphor.
Unpack them for yourself, and if you have a blast while doing so, all the better.
Why do you write?