Where I defend my pursuit of writing fiction for a living despite evidence that I might be better off buying lottery tickets every week…
1. I’m still untested. While I’ve been writing for a long time, I have yet to put myself in front of the gatekeepers of publishing; the editors, and agents. There is a line of thinking that says without their stamp of approval, I am nothing more than a hobbyist. I’m not sure I buy into that, but I do feel like I have something to prove.
2. I have stories to tell, very interesting stories. My mind goes places that surprise me. Characters and scenarios unspool around me as if they were alive. What a waste it would be if I did not work to create them.
3. I have to. It’s that simple. When I write, I am more alive than when I do anything else. Anything. The energy that drives me to write becomes ugly and twisted when I don’t use it, and that is worse than any death I can imagine.
As far as the business of writing is concerned, I really don’t care so much. I would be very happy to spend the rest of my days quietly self publishing. And yet, I know I would regret not daring to step on to a bigger stage.
