why do I write

Posted: June 23, 2013 in Uncategorized

I’ve asked myself that same question over and over and over and over, again and again and again….every time I don’t write.

Why do I write?

One answer….I cannot NOT write. I’ve tried not to write, but I catch myself eventually going mad until I breakdown and write something. Anything, no matter how miniscule. A grocery list, a note to myself to remember something, or an idea for a new freaking story. A story that I will write and map out and think about all the time until I wave my arms around and talk out loud, in public, what ever scene that’s in my head at that particular moment.

But am I writing on a regular basis, producing novels and short stories?

No, I am not.

Why not?

Good question and one I have no answer to.

Do I want to be a writer? Yes!

I want to make a lot of money writing the stories banging on the inside of my skull. I want to share the people that won’t leave me alone, the ones stuck in my head who won’t let me sleep.

I want to make a lot of money writing so I can do what I want, go where I want, and buy what ever I want any time I want.

I want to sit at book signings and hear people tell me how good my stories are.

I want to see my books everywhere there are books to be bought.

I want to go to the library and see my books on the shelves.

I want to write.

But I am not writing. At least not on a regular basis and it’s really pissing me off.

Why am I not writing? The stories are there. Amazing stories with amazing people. But I’m not writing them. I’m not finishing the stories.


Do I think I suck?

Do I think I don’t have any talent and I am wasting my time?

Is it because writing is hard work and I’m lazy? That I’d rather be laying on the sofa watching Korean dramas with my blanky and pillow?

Is it because I’m afraid to let anyone read my work afraid they are going to ridicule me?

I have no idea. Maybe it’s because of all of it. I don’t know.

All I do know is that I am not writing like I want to be and it’s frustrating me, making me sad and depressed.

When I’m with my family and friends I think I should be home, writing, instead. Yet, when I am home I’m not writing.

I set my mind to it and I begin to write, but I get up and down and up and down and up and down, finding other things to do. Like watching Korean dramas and eating chips.

I want to write and sell my novels and make a lot of money and do it for the rest of my life. The only way I know how to make this happen is to sit my butt down at the puter and write.

But I’m not.

I’m not writing.

That is all.


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