Just like anyone else who writes fiction, one of the motivating factors is to be the next King, Steele, or Koontz. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to start my day with a cup of coffee, a good brisk walk, and the “stress” over my next story. Hell, I do that already, except I don’t get to take the brisk walk and I have a fifty-plus hour a week job to go to. To get up and only have to worry about the stress of writing will be a welcome sight to me.
The chase of the money is not what keeps me writing, though. I started writing when I was seven, long before I even realized that people get paid to write. I kept writing long after I figured out that people tend to look at you like you are a freak the minute you utter the words “I am a writer”. I keep on writing even though I have yet to make any money. I keep on writing for one very simple reason.
It is that moment.
You that write – especially those of you that write fiction – know the moment I am talking about, that moment when all the endless twisting and retwisting of words gels. It gels and you get that five minute or thirty minute high when you just know that everything you are putting down on paper is good.
Or at least as good as you are capable of making it. The eyes lock in on the computer screen, the head zings, and the fingers move faster than you know they are capable of moving. The story and the characters in your head are so real that you can touch them. They come to life with each word you type.
When you are done, when the thoughts and the phrases are recorded, you live comfortably with a single thought.
This thing is yours. You have done it, you have created it. No one can ever take that away from you.
It is the greatest feeling in the world. That is what keeps me writing.
What about you/