Why I Write
I honestly don’t know. At some point quite early in my life the need to write became as demanding as the need to eat or drink or sleep.
I certainly don’t do it for fame or fortune. I’m not so naïve and foolish as to expect either. I’m sure many people must share this need to write, but simply satisfy it in private, never even considering sharing the results of it with anyone.
I have no idea from whence this intense need arrives. It may be an innate or learned disorder of the emotional centres of the brain, merely an unhealthy exaggeration of the universal need to express oneself.
All I can say is I write because that is just what defines me to myself.