Why Do I Write?
I many have addressed this issue before, but I have more to say on the subject. Namely, IRL I can’t afford to travel, I don’t own the LHC, I can’t get access to the latest advances at the VLA, and I’ll never get to steer the WFIRST. So what’s a guy to do?
I write. When I do, I can see for billions of light years. Analysis of subatomic particles is child’s play. Watching people discover the secrets of the universe is a head rush like nothing else. I get to do all that and more.
I create and destroy worlds. People are born and die on the pages of my manuscripts. They fall in and out of love, experience joy and sadness, and taste foods unavailable on this planet.
There’s also the fact I enjoy telling stories. If I couldn’t share, though, I’d still write. There are galaxies in my mind that hunger for release, people who will never know existence unless I write about them, and discoveries just waiting to appear on the pages of a book.
Why do I write? To bring what can be into reality. When people read, the imagined becomes real.
One of the highest compliments I think an author could ever have is for people to talk about the characters and events on the written page. Discuss the motivation for what one person did to or for another.
Why did she love him?
Because she had a reality that went beyond mere plot lines. He responded to her kindness, and disaster was averted. All because their imagined existence achieved reality.
That is why I write.