To feel some supposed rush when you master that paragraph, that page…to give voice to the dozens of personalities floating around in your head…to write for the sake of writing…
Who would do that? No, seriously. Who would do that? Writing hurts. It causes physical pain and mental anguish and is an eternal source of frustration for those who find themselves afflicted with the need to write. Ask anyone who has ever stared with hatred at a blank piece of paper, or struggled with the perfect word or phrasing, or gotten a rejection letter. Writing can really suck.
And yet, here we are… Still writing. Does that make us fools, to continue in an endeavor that causes harm, or devoted, for fighting the good fight? Most days, I think I’m a fool, but I still drag myself to my laptop at least once a day and answer the challenge of the keyboard.
Limping my way through the last week of NaNo, I really want to know why I write. So I sit here, and contemplate and puzzle, and you know what? I don’t have an answer. It’s just something that I do. Which sounds suspiciously like something a fool would say.