There are 1,939 reasons not to write – I’m hungry, I’m tired, I want to see what happens on the new episode of Leverage (or House, or any other fabulous drama or five). It’s been a long day. I’m scared of doing it wrong, or worse doing it right. I don’t feel like it. I need to lie down for awhile. And well over a thousand others.
On the other hand, there are a few very big reasons to write, important reasons. Being able to brag to friends and family about all the work you did while they were watching TV. Legitimacy at cocktail parties when facing the dreaded question “what do you do?” And of course the simple truth that creative constipation is bad for you. That you need to get the words on paper (or at least digital paper), that you need to tell a story. That you can’t not.
Being a writer means having a voice. It means making the world (or at least a world) make sense, even if only for a moment. It means spending time with people with interesting hobbies – even if you have to do all the research. It means living an adventure and still getting to sleep in your own bed. It’s fun, or should be. It’s a delightful analytical interesting journey with people you care very much about.
And if you’re a writer, all the reasons in the world can’t outweigh the need to make it work. The muse sits in the back of your head, patiently prompting. Ignore her at your peril.
Why do you sit down at the keyboard?
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