Why I write.

I have been asked many times the question. Why do I write? I started out wanting to see my family and friends burst with pride as they read my first book. Honestly some did, most didn't. I thought this is it, why write if I am not good enough for them? How can I expect to ever please strangers. But the stories were there inside of me, wanting so badly to be out I decided one more, just one more and if they still was not impressed, that would be it. So I wrote. Once again I impress a few, but not the ones I longed to impress.



So why do I write? I guess the simple answer is I enjoy seeing the words in print. It's like a birth, the morning sickness as you work getting it believable, and lastly there is the labor pains as you send it off to the publishers. Each time I see one of my new books I hold it to my chest with the same feelings I had with the births of my children. Yes, I feel the same pride as my characters come to life. There is the same joy as when people complimented me on my children's charms. Only now they use words like interesting, fascinating, spell-binding. No, not all but a few.



So why do I write? I literally become the characters as I write. I transform into the lovely school teacher, looking lovingly into the dark blue eyes of the handsome farmer. Or I am the country doctor as he cares for his settlement. Yes, I even become the boisterous drunkard or the cynical evil doer.



Why do I write? For a while my life is exciting, I am loved, yes, even desired by the handsome hero. I can be bold, smart, and find I become bolder with each new book, my characters become more adventurous. I don't care anymore if all my family and friends are impressed. I write because I love it.

Next time I will tell you about my books.