What inspires you to spend your free time putting words together on a word processing software like it's your job?
I really like getting my ideas on paper. I've always wanted to be able to write a good story and now I've decided to make that dream a reality, even if it kills me. And then there's the moola I'll be making.
To be fair, putting words together in a word processor is also my actual job. May as well keep my ass in the chair and do something fun with it!
Because if I don't, I'll go insane and find myself in an insane asylum bashing my head into the wall. That's why.
Because the alternative is tolerable. If I didn't write, I'd watch TV, review some old engineering courses I took 35 years ago, play my guitar, read books, drink non-alcoholic beverages, eat whatever passes for food in my house, sleep, subject myself to the force of gravity, and otherwise half-heartedly attempt to avoid death. Writing allows me to bypass all that stuff and proceed directly to the laundry. (Did that come out right?)
Because I have this book curling in my mind for 10 years and it needs to be real before I go insane. And more.. there are two more stories waiting in line... filling my mind every time I get distracted. They all want to be written and shared. And I would love to share them with everyone =)
It's an unusual way to word such a question and I assume it's asked ironically and by someone who's addressing themselves as much as everyone else, but I think most of us write because we don't really feel we have much of a choice. In other words we simply need to do it, and it's only when you have this need that you can fully understand it. Having said that I go through spells when it's the last thing I want to do, but the craft will always call me back somewhere down the line. At the moment it's done so in the guise of poetry, but I dare say the desire won't last, just like it doesn't with my fiction writing.
I absolutely have a choice. And if money stopped being a factor (like, if I won the lottery or something) I expect I'd quit. Writing's fun, but lots of other stuff is fun, too. I definitely don't feel a compulsion to do it. Daydreaming? Yeah, my life would be diminished if I stopped daydreaming. But writing itself? Not that important to me.
I actually think I may write better because I don't care that much. No golden word syndrome for me, no darlings to worry about keeping alive or killing, no angst when being edited, no tears over negative reviews... not caring that much makes this whole game a hell of a lot easier!
Three guitars right now: a 12-string acoustic (light strings) (this is my baby - I want to be buried with an acoustic 12-string), a 6-string acoustic (who cares about the string guage on this - it's just a utility guitar, relatively cheap), and a Fender Stratocaster (black with white pickguard, frets set into the maple neck - no fingerboard. .009 guage on the high E (for now). Rig? Some tiny Roland practice amp right now. I don't have any money invested in rigs right now.) /threadjack
To awaken to the shadows of darkness. You see a small light in the distance. The heat on your skin causes it to be like that of the morning dew. Brushing it from your brow a seductive voice washes over your ears. "Moth to the moon, follow it and know." Barely more than a whisper in the blackest of pitch. Through the sweat a chill flows through your flesh to the bone. Your hands meet the roughness of the wall, as you walk to the the light. Unsure of what or who is guiding you to the soft glow in the distance. Scraping your fingertips on the roughness, they burn as you travel. "That is right, come to the light." The voice prods you to make each step, deeper and deeper. Curiosity out weighs your fears, as you continue upon the wall. It is the only thing you see. "Follow from the glow to the sound of the choir." The voice continues as you meet the edge of the soft luminescence. The most beautiful vocals sing in a language that you do not know, but it is pleasing to your ears. Pressing through the heavy stone door, the corridor ahead is lit with torches. The pitch of shadows between them guiding you to the sounds that draw you to venture further. Into the labyrinth you wander, following the many angelic voices tempting you to find them. Echoing at every intersection and fork in the forlorn lit paths. "A thousand years is but a day here, and you have been but an instant." The dulcet whispers in the vocalizations. "You are not as that of Dante, and you will find yourself trapped forever in time. To be my plaything, until I tire of you." You scream, you cry, you beg, you plead. It is a wasted effort for you must come to terms that you have sealed your fate. No comfort in the glow of the torches, and madness in the shadows that haunt you.
It's the same with drawing and writing for me; I've always been doing it without thinking about why I'm doing it. But, stories come to me all the time, so I just have to write it down now and then. (I realise I have to write when I'm not able to draw what comes to my mind.) Writing being fun is one thing, but I also think it's about communicating something you wouldn't be able to communicate in any other way.
Because I enjoy it. I don't see any other benefits to it--getting a part-time minimum wage job would earn you more money. I truly don't understand any other motivation for writing than enjoyment. I'm not saying those motivations don't exist, just that I don't understand them from a logical point of view.
I like to create stories. That's about it. Writing just happens to be my preferred avenue for creating stories--that and songwriting.
I love drinking, swearing, smashing things, and yelling at inanimate objects. Writing was a natural fit.
