It's a clich that one bandies about when the night is late and too many glasses of wine have been poured. Writers are no more bound to write than a butcher is to whack away at sides of beef. Writing is a choice we make . . . This is the question I've been asking myself these past few days, and while I don't pretend to know even half the reasons, I think I'm beginning to understand why some of us write. I don't believe the people who say they write because they don't know another way to make a living . . .
People write because the best, the bravest and the highest goal of human beings is to create anew.
Whether it's a treatise on human rights or a fantastical story of science fiction, writing is one way people bring order and meaning to human existence. We write, not because we can't help ourselves, but because we refuse to accept anything less from ourselves or our world. Thank you, and now . . . I'm getting off my podium. All rights reserved.