Ever.

A published writer who’s a friend of mind thinks I’m nuts, but I don’t want locked into the pressure of deadlines and OMG will my book sell? What if it doesn’t?

I don’t want to write because I have to, I want to write because i have to.

I’ve got a website, my stuff is there should anyone want to read it. If they like it, great. But I’m fine with the idea that people don’t. It wasn’t written for them, it was written for me and me liking it is all the accolade I need.

I’ve already got a career and I’m bloody good at it and I help lots of people, so i guess it’s where God wants me to be.

But writing? is what I do for me

When I teach writing classes, that’s the question I put to everyone: Why? The answer changes not only with each individual but also over time. When I was a kid I made up stories to try to make sense of the “real” world and to entertain myself.

When I was in medical school I wrote as a way to release the stress and envision a hopeful new world (I wrote alot of SFF then)

Then I turned to crime fiction after my internship when one of my fellow interns was murdered. And I was right back to where I’d started, trying to make sense of the world, only this time I wanted more. I wanted to change the world–even if it was only my fictional world.

Now that I’m finally (finally!) going to be published (LIFELINES, Berkley, March 2008) I’m still writing for the same reasons but now there’s that added and wonderful advantage of getting feedback from an audience.

And like Kathleen said, it does make you feel alive!

I always feel more alive after I’ve written. Even when I know I’ve cobbled some stinker of a scene, I feel a calm that comes with creation.

So that’s why I write.

I would have to write, even if there was no hope. But hope keeps me going, and there’s just something about maybe seeing your name in print that will push me to finish something and get the submissions started.