When I come to think of it, it seems to me there are roughly two kinds of writers. The ones who have one story to tell and they write it down and that’s it. They’ve told what they considered important and if they have nothing more to tell, they won’t.
Then there are the other ones. The ones who write because that’s what they do. It might not always be all that grand and important what they have to tell, but it sure needs to be written down regardless if anyone will ever read it. They see and hear stories everywhere, and characters live inside their heads as a matter of routine.
I guess I’m a bit of both. Now and again there’s something I need to write, an idea that has to be shared, a thought that simply can’t be contained to the confinement of my private mind. Even if it would be the only thought I’d ever put to paper, I'll write it down and at least try to share it with others.
I’m also a writer because that’s what I do. I write for the sheer joy of seeing how thoughts in rare moments of grace translate to sentences that actually look good. I also write for the frustration of knowing that no matter what I try, something is not quite right.
Even if at moments writing is a real struggle, it’s never fully gone.
And now it’s time to write another story…