What Else Would I Do?

Sometimes I wonder why I write. Usually I wonder after I’ve spent several hours at my desk and can hardly move when I get up. Or when my arms ache so much from working on the computer that I just want to cry.

Why am I writing? Will I still do it if I never sell another book? Will I still do it if I never break through? If I never reach beyond a certain level in my career? If nobody else ever knows about my books? If I never make another dime? Will I still write?


In fact, I have written for years and years with precious little reward (and absolutely no payment). Nobody does that unless they have some kind of dedication to the thing itself.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize that, as much as I love sharing my stories with all of you, I write because it fills something inside me. It is important to me. What else would I do? How else would I spend my time? Sitting and eating and watching television all the time? Why shouldn’t I write?

I think we all need that thing, the one thing we do whether or not we’re being paid to do it, or recognized for doing it. The thing we do because we feel alive when we’re doing it. It might be running or hiking or four-wheeling or photography or playing with kids. Whatever it is, it fills us up. And it’s important. And we think, “Why not? What else would I do?”


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