“I’ve got one kid sick, one fighting in school, a dog at the vet being de-skunked, and an unconscious husband who just finished working a thirty-hour shift. So I may not make my quota, but I’m gonna give it a try…”
“The migraine meds are finally kicking in. I can’t stand the light of the computer screen yet, but I think I can handle paper and pen…”
“Diagnosis? Walking pneumonia, bronchitis, and sinus infection. But anyway— I just got a great idea for a plot twist in the ninth chapter…”
“The house full of relatives has had me going 24-7. But tonight everyone’s going to a movie. That leaves me a good two hours of writing time!”
Each one of these paraphrased comments has been e-mailed to me at one time or another from a writing buddy. (And yes, I confess, one of them is mine). At the time, they didn’t even seem unusual to me. I just applauded the person and wished them luck with their progress.
It was only when I had one of my step-back-and-take-a-look-at-the-world days that I suddenly realized…
Writers are out of their freaking minds. :yesyesyes:
A writer will write. No matter what the circumstances, the cost, or the other considerations. They will find a way. They will use computers, crayons, laptops, menus, pads, napkins, etch-a-sketch, tablecloths, or clay tablets if necessary. They have been known to neglect family, obligations, jobs, lovers, the rest of the world if they have to.
But they will write.
Why?
I know people who write just because they discovered they can. And people who write as a form of therapy. I know people who’ve written since they were children. It was their forever-dream. Some people write because they have stories gnawing at their insides, and they just have to get them out. I even know people who write because they think it’ll make them rich. 
(well, nobody ever said writers were sensible…)
But they will write.
I’m one of those sick people who had the forever dream. 
When I was eight I called my first publisher.
I made up my own super-hero comic books, wrote about pirates, had two men stranded on the moon before I was ten.
Later in life, I terrorized my sister’s kids with horror stories about a caramel-iced cake. (yes, I’m warped, but that’s another story…) :shock:
And I can’t seem to break the habit.
What is it that drives us this way?
Why do you write?
Ever since a buddy of mine at work discovered I’m writing e-books, she’s been volunteering to come on board as my business manager. Yes, my BM. We have NOT discussed the other connotations of those particular initials, however. :smokin:
Girlfriend is not without certain skills, mind you. She can handle a keyboard pretty well–and she can multitask like nobody’s business–use five telephones at a time. ‘Tis true. I’ve seen it. :poof:
So recently we had a little talk…
Buddy: So, how’s our writing going?
Me: ‘Our’ writing?
Buddy: Yeah. I mean, we are gonna be business partners and all, right?
Me: Um…cough…well, actually, I think I’d need an actual business first…
Buddy: I think it’s time for another erotic book from us. Preferably paranormal.
Me: Really? Why? You didn’t like the last one, the romance I wrote?
Buddy: Oh, it was very good. Very. That guy was VERY sexy. It’s just that the first two books you put out were the eroticas, and they were really…well, really…
Me: Yes?
Buddy: Hot. Really hot!! I mean, I took them to BED with me, and read the good parts to my boyfriend. Hardly had to lift a finger, know what I mean?
Me: ‘The GOOD parts’??! :shock:
Buddy: You know what I’m talkin’ about. Like that scene where he has the girl up against the tree. Damn!
Me: Yeah, well actually, there was a lot more to that scene, and—
Buddy: And that’s another thing. I’ve had to stop in the middle of reading your books once in a while to go look up a word or two in my dictionary.
Me: (Blink. Blink.) I’m sorry? (blink, blink)
Buddy: S’alright. Just don’t let it happen again. So what d’ya say? You’ve already done werewolves. How about a steamy Vampire story? Like, they have these tight, rock-hard asses, and they really prefer women who are a few pounds overweight, and they need to suck your blood to get a hard-on, but once they get the hard-on it just lasts and lasts and lasts… :humping:
Me: Sigh… :neutral:
“So—how about that interview?”
I calmly tasted my B&B, peering over the shot glass at my handsome host. True, I knew I was being buttered up. The free drinks, the secluded corner of the exclusive hotel lobby, the cozy wood-burning stove…I knew how smooth Brant, the hero of my latest e-book Let’s Pretend could be. But his boyish eagerness was nothing short of contagious.
And the black knit shirt stretched skin-tight across the solid pecs didn’t hurt his cause one bit. “Interview? What interview?”
“Aw, c’mon, Raine. You’ve done an interview with just about every hero you’ve created.” He tossed back an impressive draught of Southern Comfort. I’d nearly forgotten how well he handled his whisky. “You wouldn’t really leave me out in the cold, wouldja?”
“Look,” I said firmly. “You guys expect a little too much, y’know? I gave you life, made you flesh and blood. Introduced you to a great woman, created a story for you, got you laid, and arranged a happily ever after. And after all that—you still want to be INTERVIEWED?!” 
“Hmmm,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Does sound sorta selfish, doesn’t it? Okay, how about this…how about I interview YOU instead?”
Whoa. Now THIS was a very special hero! I snuggled into the soft cushions of the emerald-colored wing chair, grinning happily. “Alright. Bring it.”
(more…)
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