I love writing.
I’ve loved writing ever since I started penning anything I considered as ‘serious’ fiction and realized what power and beauty lay beneath the keys of my computer. Untapped, ready for me.
I became something more than myself as this wild creator: I was a world-maker, I crafted people from descriptions, and magic sprang from a mere twenty-six letters as I arranged and duplicated them on page after page.
One idea sprang into another. If the characters did this, then the world must do that. If, then. If, then. If, then. Over, and over, and over until there sat a novel.
And then another novel.
But, while writing is a solitary art, writers are often social creatures. We love finding other writers and bonding with them. We love creating a bond between ourselves, our writing, and our readers.
So, as a solitary creator in a solitary craft, I can tell you that there are few things more motivating for me than a story trying to crawl out of my mind and onto paper. Some stories just demand to be told.
As a social creature in a world of stories connecting other’s spirits to mine, I can tell you there are few things more motivating for me than someone with the light of one of my novels in their eyes leaning forward and asking me, “So… what happens next?”
If I keep writing, Then I’ll know.