I got asked a couple of days ago if I wrote for pleasure or profit. If you think about it, it’s a pretty loaded question. And I agreed to answer, but in my own time.
I’ve come to realise over the last few days, months, years of my life (I’ve been writing for nearly 30 years), that the truth of the matter is I write stories because I MUST.
Once, when I was ensconcend in a corner of a cozy pub with some freinds, I got to talking about writing and how I actually see it. Turns out, I don’t see writing the same as everyone else. Not by a long shot.
I see writing as an act of discovery. And the deeper I go, the more I discover. Like I’m excavating the stories, a scene at a time. I like being a fiction archaeologist – it’s one of the more enjoyable ways I spend my time.
But pleasure versus money? Niether. I derive pleasure from reading my stories – but I’m not sure if that’s the same. I’d love to make money from my books, but only because then I’d get to excavate some more. Unlike archaology, there are no universities sponsoring digs in my head, but it’s a nice thought.