After a particular challenging week (read: crappy), I’ve come to understand why I write: sometimes I prefer my characters to the people around me. That sounds a little negative, but it has been a rough week. And think about it – as a writer, you “control” the people and the situations. People are nice and everyone lives happily-ever-after (if that’s your genre). Even the not-so-nice people are redeemable and likeable by the end of the story (or the sequel). And if they aren’t, then you can just write them out or work around them. You don’t get yelled at for something you forgot to do. Or something you didn’t do. Or something that was beyond your control. Or… whatever, you get the point.
<Sigh> I know I’m wearing my emotions on my sleeve and as nice as it would be to live in “Ruthville” most of the time, I am not an island unto myself. I need those around me and not just for inspiration… okay, mostly for inspiration, but also love, comfort, encouragement and all those things that are promoted on billboards across the country.
So really, why do I write? Besides the fact that it’s an escape for me? On weeks like this, isn’t that reason enough?
Let me ask you, why do you write?