Why Do I Write?

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I was asked this question today.  I always find it hard to answer.  I can imagine that if you asked a baseball player why he play baseball he’s say it was because he enjoyed it.  I can predict that if you asked a doctor why she practices medicine, she might say it was because she wants to help people.  These are just conjectures.  But while I can speculate about others, I don’t find it simple to imagine what answer people expect from me.

I suppose I write because I have to.  Just like a runner needs to run, I feel a strong need to create entire realities that express my values and my imagination.

I also write for other people.   I love to hear from my readers who tell me they enjoyed my books, saw themselves in them, recognized feelings they have had, enjoyed the little world I created.  I like reading to school classes and listening to their ideas and responses afterwards.

I also hope that someday my descendants will know a little more about the real me.  My grandchildren are too young to read my books now, but someday they’ll e able to.  Maybe my son and daughter will be able to see into their mother’s imagination and get to know me a little better, too.

I need to tell my stories.  I guess it’s as simple as that.

 

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