Reasons for Writing

Being an author, I have my reasons for doing what I do. Some authors write for monetary reasons, others write just as a side hobby, and others do it simply because they love to write, to create new worlds and compelling characters for readers to enjoy. There are certainly others, each one tailored to the individual author.

 

For me, there are several reasons why I write. The first is simply because it was what I was meant to do. I know this. I've known it ever since I was little and first began writing stories. Back then, those stories were short (never more than a few chapters) because I'd have an idea and start writing, and after a few hours I'd write something that would spark a new idea. I'd latch onto that and start a new story based around that idea.

 

I discovered early on that writing came naturally to me. When we're little, I think that often we're given the knowledge of what we're meant to do, but at that age, we don't always recognize it as such. Some of us follow the paths we were destined to walk. Others don't, for one reason or another.

 

I was one of those who didn't - at first. I chose to direct my own thread, and it wasn't noticed for about twenty years. But I've found out that Fate is a fickle lady, and when we pull our own thread in a way that screws up her tapestry, she can be an outright bitch.

 

She used tragedy to put my thread back where it was meant to go. A few years later, I made an attempt to move my thread elsewhere again when I stopped writing to take a construction job that took me out of state. What I got as a response from Fate for me having the audacity to touch my thread a second time was a car accident that left me with a fractured rib and eight weeks of almost unbearable pain as I recovered. And still, I didn't learn. I took a job at a pallet building company within walking distance of my house. Decent pay, no fuel costs... great, right? Apparently, Fate didn't agree because I narrowly missed having my hand crushed by the machine several times.

 

I'd already had a pretty good idea where my thread was supposed to go by then, and yet despite her previous warnings, I tried a fourth time to veer from what I was meant to do. The unnerving part is that I started getting a constant tingling in my fingers and hands almost right after I'd made the decision, and the very day I was planning to drive to one of the bigger towns nearby and grab an application for a grocery store (I figured with my previous twenty years of experience in the business, I could get a job easily) my left leg went out. It was nothing but dead weight that I had to drag along for almost a month before it relented. I regained the use of it, along with being diagnosed with MS as well. Thanks for that particular one, Fate. I really appreciate it. *sarcasm* 

 

Now, some may call these incidents purely coincidence, and others may see them as signs. Personally, I've learned my lesson. I'm not about to tempt Fate again. I think at this point, she's pissed enough at me for daring to touch my thread on four separate occasions and mess up her tapestry. I know now that she does not like anyone except her playing with those threads. I won't go for a fifth attempt, especially not living here in Wisconsin. The next time she might not give me any more warnings and just have a deer run out in front of the car or something and cut my thread completely.

 

But it's not just Fate's sick ways of reminding me that I was given a gift for a reason and that I damn well better use it. I truly love what I do. Despite the long hours, the frustrations, the headaches, and having to deal with the part time co-worker who clocks in whenever he wants and spends his shifts harassing me (damn you, Writer's Block!), there are other reasons why I do what I do.

 

It's wanting my wife and our kids to be proud of me for doing something significant and meaningful. Something that's more than simply stocking shelves in a grocery store, which is what I did for nearly twenty years. Sure, I rose up to a lead position in a few different departments, I was an Asst. Manager in one other, and I had even gotten a Manager spot in still another department over the years.

 

I'm not putting down any other jobs, they're all meaningful and serve a purpose. Honestly, I guess I just want my wife and kids to be proud of me for doing something that for me is more significant and meaningful compared to what I used to do. When I think of the difference between the two, of what my wife and kids used to say when someone asked them what I did for a living versus what I do now, this is what I think of:

 

"My husband/dad works in a grocery store stocking shelves and building displays."

 

-versus-

 

"My husband/dad is an author."

 

Anyone can stock shelves. Hell, that was one of the first jobs I had twenty-four years ago, back when I was 16. I suppose that was one of the things that bothered me. It was just a job. I was good at it, but that's all it ever was - a job. I needed something more than to have what I do be more to me than just a job that almost anyone can walk in off the street and do. Being an author fills that need, because it's not something just anyone can do. Sure, we all had to do book reports and essays in school, but we were never assigned to write a 70,000+ word novel.

 

It's not an easy job, by any means. It's one of the most difficult things I've ever done, in fact. But it's also the most rewarding, because it focuses outwards. Its sole purpose is to delight and entertain others, and for me, that fills another need. A need to touch other's lives in a way that's more personal than just stocking shelves and working my ass off for little more than minimum wage.

 

When readers enjoy my books and leave amazing reviews, when they take the time to email me, whether it's to tell me what they loved, who their favorite characters were, how they literally cheered when a character they despised met his or her end, or even just to say hello and connect with me, it can turn around even my worst day in an instant. Those moments make everything - from the writing, the frustrations and headaches, the editing and promoting... and yes, even having that jerk WB clocking in at random times worth every single minute to me.

 

Another reason is because it's my legacy to my wife and kids, which is why I choose to write under my own name and not use a pen name for my Fantasy books, which are geared more towards the YA crowd but even adults have enjoyed, or my Paranormal Romance novels, which are for more mature audiences due to some strong language and steamy (not explicit) romance scenes mixed in with the action of the story.

 

Perhaps one day, when my time is up and I'm gone from this world, when my kids have children of their own, they'll have my books on a shelf in their own homes. Maybe they'll show their own children those books and say: "This is what my father/your grandpa did for a living. He was a writer." And perhaps my kids will watch those little eyes grow wide as their children look at those books, and it will spark something within them to read, perhaps even discover that they've been given a gift for writing themselves.

 

 

So what are my reasons for writing? Why do I do what I do? Because I was given a gift that was meant to be used, not set aside. Fate has reminded me of that on several occasions. Because as hard as this job is, it's also the most rewarding job for me, since it focuses outwards to others with the sole purpose of stirring their emotions. Because I want my wife and kids to be proud of me, to puff out their chests with pride when they tell others that their husband/dad is an author. And finally, because I want to leave a legacy for my kids with the books I've already written, and the ones that I have yet to write - books with my name on them. Books that one day I hope that they'll be proud to show to their own children when they tell them who I was, what I did, and why it meant so much to me.