I’ve been asked a few times over the years why I write. To me, it’s a silly question. But I answer as honestly as I can without waxing too philosophical.
I write because I enjoy it. I’ve been writing stories since I could hold a pencil. Writing has always been something I’ve enjoyed, and enjoyed for its sheer magic. I write for no one but myself. The written word gives me pleasure and feeds my soul. If I tried to write for other people, my stories would come across hollow and soulless. So I write the stories I have within me. That’s the other reason I write–the stories are there, in my head, and they keep coming whether I write them down or not. So I might as well write them down and keep the words to enjoy over and over again, rather than embrace the fleeting thoughts once and never again. When I began writing, I never really thought about publishing. My stories were just for me and my enjoyment. I didn’t even share them with anyone else for years. It wasn’t until maybe college that I really considered publishing and whether my stories would even be interesting to anyone but me.
So basically I write because I enjoy it. I don’t do it for money or fame, I do it for love. Sure, it would be lovely and amazing to sell lots of copies, and I would love for that to happen. But even should I only sell two, I will still write. Nothing and no one will stop me!