Why I write…

I write because I can’t not write. I write because the stories in my head are so wonderful that I have to share them with the world, whether the world wants to read them or not. Writing makes my daydreams legal—I’m working when I daydream.
I write because since my very first story that I wrote in the fourth grade, it has been the one constant goal I’ve ever had. I still want to be a writer when I grow up. I’m not sure I’ve grown up yet, but I am a writer.
I write because I love the English language and how the words sound when strung together just right. I love knowing all of the rules of writing and speaking—and then breaking them all, just for fun.
I write because it is the one thing that I know I can do well without having to think too much. A letter, a story—whatever. I know it will be good.
I write because I’m addicted to stories and no one has stories like mine, so I’d better get them down.
I write because there are bad writers out there making tons of money on their crap. If they can get rich writing crap, I can be a millionaire with my well-crafted prose. Now, if only I can get someone to pay attention…
I write to be remembered. Years after I’m gone, my words will live on, even if only through my children—if they are my only readers. I’ll have something to say to the generations beyond them and make my mark on this world.

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