Why I Write, or Don't

I write because it's fun. And because people tell me I'm good at it and I like to believe them.

I write because I take an equally egotistical and masochistic joy in reading and re-reading each and every thing I've written -- because it's just as much fun to look proudly at the finished product as it is to spit on it, tear it to pieces and set it ablaze the very next day because it is so completely horrible and unworthy of human eyes -- like a lot of the poems on this page, for instance.

I write because, as laborious as it is, I enjoy the revision process. I enjoy taking a sentence I thought was done, deconstructing it and rearranging the words into something more enjoyable to read.

Then, I don't write.

I don't write because it's summer. Because I'd rather be outside, in the sun, with a book, or the dog.

I don't write because I'm lazy. Because it's easier not to.

I tell myself I want to be a writer. The problem, however, is that a writer writes. Always. I write. But not always. There's any number of excuses I could fall on as to why I don't write more. Work is busy, too many things to do around the house, blah, blah, blah. But we all know these are empty excuses. We know that everything worth anything takes time and dedication. Practice and perseverance.

Maybe I'll write something tonight. Or maybe I'll play with the dog. Or go for a bike ride. Or watch re-runs of M*A*S*H.