What drives you to write fiction? After all, writing fiction is hard work. You might spend years learning the craft of writing fiction. Then more years trying to get your work published. Then the reviewers sink their fangs into your precious baby. Then your book hits the shelves, sells a few copies, and disappears in the flood of new titles. All for a LOT less money per hour than you’d earn flipping burgers.
Why do we put up with up with this? Are we sick? Are we stupid? Are we that desperate for attention? Why do you write fiction?
I’ll tell you why I write fiction. It’s because . . . I can’t NOT write fiction. Yes, writing is painful, hard, knuckle-busting work. But I love it. I love starting with a third of an idea. I love composting that idea for years and years. I love adding to it little by little. I love developing the design for a beautifully structured story. I love hanging out with characters who don’t really exist anywhere except in that small space between my ears. I love writing proposals and selling them to editors. I love sitting down to a clean page and typing that first sentence. I love drilling out my daily word count. I love finishing the story and typing THE END and knowing that I’ve done something most people can’t do. I love editing it. I love the adrenaline rush of doing final edits at 3 AM and emailing it in to my editor at the last possible second. I love reviewing the proofs. I love getting the first copy of my new book in the mail.
I love it all.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. But let me tell you, a story is worth a million pictures. There is something about Story that makes us human. Story gives us meaning in a random, crazy universe. Story gives us the strength to get up in the morning and face a faceless day. Story gives us hope. Without Story, we’re all a bunch of buck-naked apes.
With Story, we’re humans.
It’s writers who create stories. We make up our own little universes. We get to play God in our story-worlds. The creation story in the book of Genesis tells us that we are made in God’s image. I have a hunch that part of what that means is that we are creative beings. We speak, and story-universes leap into existence. That’s cool. That’s massively cool. What could be cooler than that?
That’s why I write fiction.
What about you? Why do you write fiction? Leave a comment and tell me why. The best comment (in my sole judgment) as of Friday night at midnight, Pacific time, wins a free autographed copy of my latest novel, DOUBLE VISION, which features multiple universes and tough decisions.
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I write it because I love it. I write it because it’s who I am – if I didn’t write, a piece of me would cease to exist. And I write fiction so that someone besides me can hear the voices in my head.
I write for the same reason I read: to find out what happens. I get an idea in my head, think, ‘ooh, that could be interesting’ and in order to discover what happens next, I have to write it down – follow the words to their conclusion.
I love creating characters, hearing them speak inside my head and then telling their stories. I am fascinated by the question of why people do the things they do – what drives someone to murder, or adultery, or lies, or bravery, or taking the biggest risk of their lives. For me, fiction answers that question so much better than fact and straightforward explanation.
Fiction delves into the past, explores where we come from, what forms us, how we see the world, and how we see and relate to other people. It speaks to our hearts as well as our minds, and touches our spirit.
If I can do some of that, and do it in such a way that my readers can’t help but respond and feel and think, I’ve succeeded in writing great fiction.
It’s not easy, but the challenge is what keeps me doing it, day after day after day.
Because my characters are real in my mind and if I don’t give them words to say or adventures to have, then it’s like letting them die. That isn’t to say I don’t kill my darlings, but when they die on a published page, they become immortal. Letting them die in my mind is like relegating them to limbo.
And besides, in fiction, you can make the good guys win every time. Yeah, I know someday God will make real life have a happy ending, but it may not be in my lifetime. Writing fiction is like taking illegal drugs without the side effects, immorality, and fried brains.
I write fiction to be read
Rob
I write because if I didn’t, I’d end up mumbling to myself in a myriad of different voices as these people in my brain struggle to get out and play. The flesh and blood people living with me wouldn’t understand and might react in ways that would curtail our party. At least this way they tolerate me mumbling at the computer as I type.
I live, therefore I write.
I write fiction because I have exhausted every other alternative to torturing myself.
I like to write about something that really happened, whether in my own life, in world news, or some technology that might someday exist. Then I give it a different twist, let it go somewhere else, until it gets a life of its own somehow. That’s when it gets really fun! A story whose characters and situations take over and won’t allow me to stop writing until it’s all on paper or in the pixels – even if it takes years. It’s worth it. Ask your own heroes…
I write fiction because as a psychologist I’ve seen many side of life: good, bad, and truly ugly. In fiction, I have some measure of control over what happens to my characters in their world. Life operates on basic principles, or rules, whether or not we believe in them. If we jump off a ten-story building, it really won’t matter if we believe in gravity. They’re still going to scrape us up off the sidewalk and put us in a baggie.
The world of fiction still has to follow the same principles that the rest of us must follow. However, in my story or novel I get to determine the outcome. The bad guy is still caught or dies, and the girl still gets her hero. But in the end, when the rules are followed, I get to mete out the justice and the rewards.
After years of seeing good people hurt by bad people, there is a sense of control that I’ve never had in writing how-to manuals. I enjoy creating characters and developing them into people with strengths, weakness, idiosyncrasies, habits, and personality traits. Writing fiction is not only rewarding, it just plain fun.
I write fiction because it’s my gift, it’s how God talks to me, and it’s one of the ways I talk to others about God. I have learned more from fiction (including my own) than I ever learned from good sermons. I know others like me are the same way. It is for them that I write.
Of course, I also do it for the thrill of creating new worlds. I love the thrill of naming new creatures no one has ever thought of, or creating places and names that stir the imagination. Who knew there were so many universes just within my own mind?
I also write because in my mind, at least, I think one day I could one day be as good as Tolkien or Jordan. They are the two men I aspire to. I am young and full of fire, and I have time and passion to become the best writer I can be.
I think that about covers it.
The muse sings and the blood grows hot, my fingertips burning with the desire to unleash the images of life dancing in my head.
I write because I live.
Let’s face it , we have to do something with that expensive box of electronics we have hissing in the background and what’s better than inventing our own worlds and populating them with our own characters. After all, one can only play so many games of scorpion before the novelty wears off and the television is so mind-numbingly mediocre nowadays, what else are we as writers going to do so with our time.
I love writing fiction too. I dont care about the hard work, or the publishing and distribution problems, I just love writing fiction. If I never sold a book, I would still write fiction.
Most of my writing until recently (40 odd books) has been non-fiction…and writing non-fiction has been as boring as anything!
As I’m not 7 foot tall, nor built like tank, my heroes and heroines can do all the things I can’t. Writing fiction brings dreams to life. Some people might say I need to see a shrink. Perhaps I do. I’ll write one in!
But I also love the way I can alter the environment to suit my story. I can create scenarios that make my writing a furious and fastpaced adventure story, or slow it down for tender love scene….or two…
Yes, I love writing fiction!
I just starting writing.
Why?
Because I told myself stories all my life.
Because I’m sick of my 9 to 5 life.
Because I always dreamt more.
Why do I write fiction?
Wow. I could say because it’s part of me. I could say that I do it to get these people out of my head – coz it’s a little crowded up there. I could say that I write because I have to, because if I don’t I’ll go crazy. But, whilst these all have their impact on my need to write, it isn’t all of it.
I write fiction because I feel it. What the hell does that mean? Well, I watch a lot of sci-fi – always have – and I feel that too. I dream of other worlds, other galaxies, other histories and I can feel as the characters do, see as they do. And I want to find out if they resolve anything, if they go anywhere, what they do when they get there. I can let them live their lives and feel free from the constraints of the ‘real world’ for a while as I watch the characters progress.
It’s like asking myself ‘How would I feel to be standing on another world?’ in the morning then in the evening be staring up at an unfamiliar sky and saying ‘Oh! That’s what it feels like.’
I’ll never leave this planet. I’ll probably never leave the town I was born in. But with my fiction, even if no one ever reads it, if no one ever cares about it, at least I can send someone to other places, to a more interesting, fulfilling, involving, exciting existence that the one I lead.
Why do I write fiction? Because without fiction, my life would be empty, dark, dull and monotonous. Without fiction, my dreams are worthless. I write to live the dreams I can never fulfill. I write because I need to.
“Without Story, we’re all a bunch of buck-naked apes. …With Story, we’re humans.” R. Ingermanson
As a human, I’ve seen both apes and humans buck-naked. Not nearly as glamorous as it sounds. As a nurse, I’ve seen way more than that. As a fiction writer… Ahh, that’s where the fun begins! I get to see the baby in the womb, limbs forming, eyelids developing, taking shape and growing into something wonderful. I’ll admit, the giving birth is still painful. Haven’t found a way around that yet. But when you hold that published mss in your arms for the first time, you forget the difficulty of the birthing process. At least for a little while.
Stop writing? Never! I MUST continue to write. Stories, poetry and fiction will allow my grandchildren and others to see the world in vivid technicolor. Zowie!
What compels me to write fiction is my heart to write something I believe in. Fiction is what makes us human. The ability to escape. The ability to distract our minds. Give us hope when all hope seems lost. And to experience a whole ray of emotions without becoming attached. What drives me to write fiction is the endless possibilities, the possibility to change history.
Writing in itself is like your life story. Each story has characters that embody a little of piece of you. Your telling a story but you somehow find yourself addicted because the characters you have created are visions of you. Like God is in all of us. A little part of us is in the stories we create. Writing is therapeutic.
Non fiction is overrated. Fiction can take non-fiction and apply it to the fictionalized world. You’re basically getting a two for one deal. Fiction is the future and the future is stranger than fiction. So what do you get? You get non fiction. Fiction itself eventually becomes non fiction.
My vivid imagination and my love for the written word are the reasons why I write
It took a friend to explain to me why I write:
“To create something beautiful and romantic and ethereal like your novel can never be a waste of time and effort…even if it is only yours, it is something to be proud of and there are others who share the wish for a better world, a safe haven, a mystical journey.”
As far back as I can remember I have lived a vivid life in my inagination. Taking characters to places I could never go through situations I could never cope with. One day such a story grew and grew until I just had to write it down or I’d burst. Me write a book? People like me don’t write books. But I did. I wrote another three and a half books and am on my fourth. It’s something I have to do or I will… will, like I said, burst with the effort of holding it all in. So, to avoid having to clean the resultant mess up, I write.
I write because I must.
Jerry Lewis held a comedian workshop once, and he interviewed every single student, only asking one question: “Why do you want to make people laugh?” Without the correct answer, he turned people away regardless of talent.
The answer is: “Because I have to.” I need to.
When I don’t write, the unwritten words beg me to write them. The stories inside me clamor to be told. I have A Story, only one, but it can be told a myriad of ways, with infinite plots and infinite twists and infinite endings. The Need to Feed the Beast is inside me, always ravenous, always inspired. I go nowhere without a pen and notebook. Writing is what I do. Writing is What I Am.
Condidi ergo est. I write, therefore I am.
[Thank you for your newsletters, and now for the blog as well. You’ve always been so helpful in improving my writing. I eat, sleep, and breathe the Snowflake, and it’s had an impact on me like nothing else. All the work you do for us author-hopefuls is very appreciated, Mr. Ingermanson!]
For decades my life was a facade that even I could not see around. When, finally, that wall was dismantled I discovered hidden among the rubble a side of me that I had not known existed. When I write, that hidden Tom gets to stand up and do that for which he was created.
Fiction…It’s your imagination…just imagine!..There are no limits!..No boundaries..The Story World you create is like no one Else’s. You can go as far away from planet Earth as you like, and you don’t even have to be an Astronaut. Or you can dwell in the center of the Earth as a creature no one has ever thought could survive in such a place. But in my mind those kinds of creature’s are there! There are places and beings like no other in my world of Fiction and there are even entire universes. And it is a place no one else will ever get to visit…but me…so you see I have to write Fiction. It is up to me to make sure the people of this planet get to travel to other worlds they never thought existed. That is what drives me to write Fiction.
I love writing fiction because I love reading fiction. Like Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella, “In my own little corner …I can be whatever I want to be.” Apparently my brain is too active for the 9 to 5 plus a few hours at home world.Reading stories and writing down my own provide a safe outlet, a way to experience things I’ll never do in person. Writers are balanced between creativity and madness. Without fiction writing, I’d topple right on over that line.
There are a thousand reasons, but for me it all boils down to this. Creating a whole world with people, places, action and feelings with words, just words and nothing else. When I write, a blank page slowly turns into a space breathing with life.
And when someone says, “Oh my God, I can’t believe it! Why did you make Sean leave?” It makes you forget all the tortures you went through while writing it. In the end, you have won.
Hi Randy! Congrats on your new blog-looks great.
Why I write…Hmmm.
I started writing because of a dream I had. Not a vision but a dream. Now I can’t stop. The dialogues pop into my head, scenes create themselves in my mind, and characters are screaming to be let out.
I love writing. It’s better than reading. I hold on to the pen (or keyboard) for dear life as my characters race all over the page (or screen). I get such a charge out of it!
I write fiction because everyone deserves to be told stories. It’s what humanity thrives on, from stories about how the gods work to remembering the past. I write fiction because I am human.
I write romantic fiction because I love happy-ever-after. I thrive on it. It’s my way of making the world a prettier place …. if only for a moment.
First I am a natural story teller. Writing fiction is another way to create a wider audience to hear my stories.
Fiction is also a very strong tool to help us all (the writer and the reader) see beyond the natural possiblilities around us. It expands our horizon, propels us to experience cultures, continents, emotions that we may have never encountered. Through fiction, we can live and feel beyond ourselves.
I love to tackle impossibilities; that’s another reason why i write fiction.
After trying to think of some intelligent, inspiring and down right brilliant reason. I found out I don’t know why. I guess I’m still in the process of discovering my “voice”. However, I believe the ability to put characters in situations, moral or physical that I or nobody I know will ever face, fascinates me. The process of discovering what a character should/could do. And for some reason, I love research.
Why do I write? Lots of reasons.
Do I write because I CAN’T not write? Um…most of the time. My mind is now trained to look at life as one big pool of ideas for different stories, so if I didn’t have some outlet for that, I’d go nuts. (More so than I already am.)
But, first and foremost, I look at my writing as a ministry. I pray each time I sit down at the keyboard for God to give me the words, for his message to come through loud and clear (makes me feel guilty for editing sometimes…ha) and that what I write will reflect Him. It’s my ministry, my passion, my desire to give back. That’s the main reason.
And, if I’m honest, I want to be my own boss, (answering only to God, okay, and my editor), set my own hours…and get paid to do something I love. Yeah, I want the money…but at least I have my priorities right, right?
“I write to discover what I know.” (Flannery O’Connor) That’s it for me. Oh, and writing gives me a bigger rush than bungee jumping.
Gee Randy, you took most of the reasons. LOL
I write fiction because it is the most simple and at the same time most complex creative act I can undertake.
What can be simpler than taking up a pen and squiggling it against paper to get words?
What can be more complex than creating entire worlds, populating them with people who are more real than real, and giving their lives meaning and justice?
It really is all about writing colossal “lies” that tell the simplest, most fundamental “truth.”
It’s just incredibly cool to have this power that ultimately humbles me when I wield it. I wish more people realized that they have the same power. Learning a story and fighting myself to write it down truthfully is the best way I have found to learn how to be a real human being.
Plus I write the stories down in order to make more room in my head for more stories. I have quite a backlog so I better get back to my writing. LOL
SHARING is what drives me to write fiction. I’m an embarrassingly stingy person, but when I hear a good line in my head or picture a hilarious scene, I want to share it with someone–with lots of someones.
Can we never be rid of this mad genius set to take over the world?
As for fiction writing . . . I write fiction to escape my mundane existence. If you don’t have a life, create one.
I have been asking myself that question for quite a few years now. Why do I write? Maybe I should get a real job; pound the pavement or something. But writing is in my blood. Every time I pray for release, the Lord brings confirmation instead. Verses pop out that remind me of that calling. An idea will form relentlessly in my head. I’ll lay awake at night trying to get a handle on a thought. My whole being resonates with Gene Fowler’s assessment, “Writing is easy; all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until little drops of blood form on your forehead.” (“Chicken Soup for the Writer’s Soul” Canfield, Hansen & Gardner, p. 265)
So, I ask you, “Why write?” When you find the answer, I would sure like to know!
First of all I have to agree with everything above. I can tell you are all good writers. I came to writing fairly late in life (50). I can’t draw, I can’t sing but I can write. I love the unpredictable nature of writing. I start out but I know I don’t know where I’m going. The characters take on lives of their own and lead me (I believe only a writer could understand that). I love that it’s just me and the screen, no rules just trying to unearth the one true story that’s been given to me. I love to edit and watch that crap first draft turn into something beautiful.
There is a box in my closet that contains the beginnings of several stories. They are mine. Some are handwritten. Others are neatly typed. One is so old that the paper clip that holds it together has rusted onto the top page. Just when I think I’ve reached the point when I can toss it all to the trash and breath some non-writer’s oxygen…the ache and the ‘what if’ and the ‘why not’ ping my soul…and I’m hooked again. The box stays put. I’m a radical electron in search of a hungry nucleus!
I write fiction to live other lives.
I already have your Double Vision (love it,) so you can give it to the person who has the second best comment…(smile.)
Story is supreme. We’ve been telling stories in this world since the In the Beginning series. Since I’ve been talking before I could walk, I have told stories, and as soon as I could write coherently (well, that may be still up for debate,) I wanted to put those stories down on paper. Fiction is freedom for me.
Welcome to the blog world. I look forward to it!
Why do I write fiction? Because from somewhere in the deep recesses of inner-cranial gray matter a scene or character appears and I want to investigate, want to learn more about. Only by dragging this out of my head and committing it to written words am I able to give voice to the characters who emerge, to learn about them as they tell their stories. I enjoy the process! That is sufficient reward.
I write fiction for the same reason I began reading fiction at the age of two. To go somewhere else, to perhaps “be” someone else. I’ve been more places in books than I’ll ever manage to visit in reality. Of course, writing the fiction also gives me a level of control that my real life will never offer.
If the heroine in my current WIP were to take on flesh and blood, I’d probably be on the losing side of a fight right now. I’d better not let her read my plot chart.
I write in hopes that God can use my experiences and blunders, as I fictionalize them, to help others grow closer to Him, relax in their pursuit of Him, glory in their worship of Him, laugh in the joy of Him and rejoice in the mystery of Him. I write because He’s called me to this craziness. I write for the joy and pain of it all.
Great new blog, Randy! I’ll add it to my favorites if you don’t mind.
Because I like to play God with imaginary people.
Okay, that’s only part of the reason. Like those before me, and I’m sure after me, I write because I have to.
To hold it in is similar to having the stomach flu. Keeping the story churning in my head hurts worse than letting it all out.
I can’t claim any higher purpose to my stories or my characters, because I honestly have no control over them. In short, I do what the voices tell me to do. If not, sheesh do they become annoying!
I write because the characters wake me up at six am telling me their life stories, their problems, what they like to do in their spare time. They won’t leave me alone till I give them a story. They’re like babies–bellowing till mommy feeds them or changes them or holds them. Spoiled brats. And then they have the nerve sometimes to take over their scenes and argue with their friends or change jobs or refuse to follow the paths I’ve set for them. Where’s a paddle for their rebellious behinds? Nooo, I have to give them their way and change the story to suit their wants and needs. What’s that? The story is always better when they take the bit between their teeth? Fine. I admit it. this must be why I have cats. They don’t obey me either.
I write in order to tell a story that is so well-written and intriguing that it leaves the reader begging for more.
I write because it’s what God has placed inside of me. He is the one that drives the story that I tell. I’m driven to place the words on paper and I’m amazed at the finish product because deep down I know it wasn’t me alone who created this but He used me as a tool. I love being used as a tool of the Lord. I couldn’t write any other way. I pray and ask the Lord to guide the story and what comes out amazes me. For me I’m not really a writer but a storyteller for that is the gift the Lord has given me. So I don’t write alone, but I write none the same.
Well, Randy, many years ago, writing grabbed hold of me and wouldn’t let go. You know how little kids will hang on to your leg when you’re walking and you stiffen it and limp along? That’s how I feel about writing. I’m limping along and it’s hanging on. I can’t go out in public without eavesdropping. I can’t listen to my husband talk about work without fading off, creating stories about what he’s telling me. I can’t meet my daughter’s friends without plugging them or their personalities into my novels. I can’t hear my pastor preach without getting several good ideas for articles. Even after all these years, I’m asking myself: am I cursed or am I blessed? Writing has got to be a little bit of both.
AMEN, Brother Randy!!!!!
This is such a great encouragment, and proof(maybe) that I’m NOT crazy.
I agree with you, I write fiction because I can’t stop. All the stories, ideas, inspirations, and voices in my head need a place to be expressed. (Yes
I said voices, and no I’m NOT CRAZY 😉
Just the simplest thought or something in the news, on billboards, or on the side of the road set my mind off in a hundred directions, and they don’t stop until I pull them into a plot or character.
Our world is full of unique people, and I love watching our own mannerisms play out, each with a story to tell. People watching just shows how many stories there are out there. (Yes I watch people, no I’M NOT CRAZY!)
Even the creative process is an amazing example of the time, effort, love, pain, sweat, and tears God spent on us. Watching my fingers type out words on a page, and listening to the ping pong balls of ideas in my head draws me closer to God often leaving me breathless at how Amazing HE is.
I could go on and on about this subject, cause it’s the reason I get up in the morning. And I probably should stop before you think I need a straight jacket.
Thanks Randy!
When I was a teenager in the late hippie era, I vowed I would not grow up to live in the suburbs, drive a station wagon, and have 2.5 kids. Now I live in a semi-rural bedroom community, drive a minivan, and have 4.0 kids. But there’s one thing (besides my faith) that saves my life from being the kind of humdrum, pointless existence those things I dreaded symbolized, and that’s writing.
Writing forces me to look with deep and true eyes at the world and especially at myself. Writing makes me more compassionate, more humble, less judgmental. Writing saved my sanity through my midlife crisis. Writing gets me up at five in the morning even on the days when all I can do is stare at a blank screen and pray for words, any words.
Right now, after a long string of painful rejections and in the midst of a serious block, I’m tempted to say writing is an expression of masochism. But deep down I know that’s not true. Reading fiction has given my life deeper meaning, and I want to contribute what little mite I can to that great tradition. Writing puts me in a community with people like Jane Austen, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Leo Tolstoy, Charles Dickens, Dorothy Sayers, C.S. Lewis. I don’t know any neighborhood where I’d rather live.
You know, here’s what’s weird. I don’t know why I write. Why do people breathe? They don’t *decide* to breathe…living bodies do it on their own for the most part. I feel like that most of the time. I didn’t *decide* to write; it just happened, and like breathing, it keeps happening.
Deciding why I *shouldn’t* write is a question I could answer. Why shouldn’t I write?
For all the reasons you mentioned—writing pays crap for the most part; writing takes dedication and years of practice to the exclusion of a lot of other things; writing opens doors for anybody who can read (and some who are barely literate) to tell you that you stink and are wasting your time; writing reveals secret parts of me that I, first of all didn’t know existed, and secondly didn’t want anybody to know about; writing has brought on a recurring and horrible pain in my shoulder and wrists; writing has required me to change my sleep schedule to accommodate the time required to produce the work—I now get up at 4 a.m. every single day and write until I have to go to my “real job”; writing forced me to step outside my comfort zone by writing letters to editors and agents I don’t know asking them to *please* read my stuff; writing has cost me money what with software, conferences, website hosting, paper, stamps…it’s not cheap.
And finally, writing is hard to do well—it’s sooo hard to do it well. I read a book like To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee and I think to myself, “Holy crap. I’ll never be able to do it like that!” Did I mention that writing also gave me a massive inferiority complex?
So why do I write? People constantly find reasons for not doing it, and I understand all of them, I really do. But honestly, I think for me not writing is like fighting my body’s natural functions—like holding my breath. I can do it for a while, but I turn blue, feel dizzy, and ultimately pass out. Then I wake up, and I’m doing it again. That’s pretty much the size of it.
I write fiction for a variety of reasons, but I think that at the very core; the reason I write fiction is that I am at my most content when I am creating.
I enjoy several different creative endeavours; experimenting with ingredients to come up with new recipes, taking parts of one sewing pattern combining them with another then using material of my choice to end up with an original design or bringing all the elements together that turn a house into a home. Yet of all the creative endeavours that I’m involved in, I find writing fiction to be the most challenging.
After all, what could be more challenging than sitting down and creating an entirely new world. Even if that world is a street in a well-known city, it is still new in the sense that it is being relayed through the unique lense of the writer’s eye. And then to inhabit that world with beings (human or otherwise) who have never existed until the moment they pop into your mind. Then once all that’s assembled to take them and yourself on an adventure the like of which has never been lived before.
Now it doesn’t alway happen in that order. In fact for me, the characters usually come first and they have already started the adventure without me. I must then discover where they are, what’s happened to get them to this point and inevitably, how to get them out of the trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.
The final challenge, of course, in writing ficiton is to relay all that information to the reader in such a way that they feel like they’re taking part in the adventure too.
Susan
P.S. It was interesting to note how you had applied the same principles to writing your first blog entry as were explained in the latest issue of The Mad Genius Writer E-zine. What a great way to reinforce that lesson!
My reason for writing fiction could be grandiose and noble, you know…the betterment of humankind, the awe of creating, righting social injustices, and so on. Unfortunately, I’m much more base than that. I write because it preserves my mental health (and come on, I’m still hoping to be a millionaire someday). Through the years writing has been the escape that kept me sane from seeking my literary revenge on my three sisters as I grew up to being my escape during an abusive relationship in high school. Writing is currently stablizing my mind because I’m a military wife. I’ve lived in five states in five years, but my characters are my groupies and they just follow me from base to base. I’m also a stay at home mom to my infant son and German shepherd. Writing helps keep me thinking (if not speaking) in complete sentences and thinking about subjects a little deeper than dog-walking or baby-pleasing.
At age 59, my mother’s voice still rings in my ears at any time I would even think of breaking the “rules”. I get to live through writing fiction.
Some people produce a lot of phlegm. They cough and hack and they are always spitting up little chunks of mucous. All day long they are clearing their throat, waiting for the next time that they will have no choice but to spit out that byproduct that their body has produced. It is not something they have consciously decided to be, they are just phlegmy people.
That is how writing is for me. It is something I have to do and if I don’t, it will drive me crazy until I can sit down and do it. Sometimes, like phlegm, no one wants to see it, but sometimes I get lucky and the world craves to read it (at least my small little world). I don’t really have any choice in the matter, it is just a byproduct of my brain function.
Like any other guy who writes, I do it for the chicks. Any man who answers otherwise is self delusional.
I write because I have to..
It’s all in my head. What I have seen, done, heard, been told about.
All of it.
The most important things are what I have experienced. I want to tell it like it was; like it is. If I did it, I invent a character to do it again; or a character asks me to put him/her through it.
If I haven’t done it, a character tells me I should do it, before it’s too late. Like base-jumping?
I write it up then so I can experience at least at second hand.
But most of all I write because I want others to read what I write. To share my dreams, aspirations, and maybe even tell me I have it all wrong.
I write, therefore I am. No parody intended. (If you believe that, then I have caused you to suspend your disbelief…)
Most of all I LOVE fiction. It’s the only way I can truly get in touch with myself; and by the same token with others who love fiction.
That’s it. End of story. Or is it the beginning?
John
I write fiction to explore and learn. I’m a questioner, always have been and always will be, but only in the last few years have I felt the freedom to question anything and everything. As a result, I can take the discoveries I make and use them, maybe, to help someone else.
I write fiction because those voices inside my head won’t give me any peace until I share their story!
I don’t write fiction. I read it like a maniac, and I edit it. I do it because I love, love, LOVE it! I’ve never even wanted to write fiction (although that may change someday). I’m blissfully happy living in the worlds all you writers create. Thank you for making it possible for me to have the best job in the entire world!
I write because I want to give that deep-down emotional satisfaction to others that I get when I hear just the right song at just the right time, or read that just-right ending of the book you couldn’t put down.
I write because it gives me deep-down emotional satisfaction.
Funny but I’ve never asked myself why I write fiction. The easy answer is that I can’t think of anything else I would find as interesting, especially any other form of writing (and I’ve done plenty).
The deeper answer: I love the puzzle of finding all the pieces of my story world and figuring out how to put them together most effectively. I really love that feeling of flow that comes when I’m totally immersed in that other world and I can feel the chemistry in my brain shift (it’s an addiction, even, since I get cranky if I haven’t hit flow in a few days!). I love learning new things (aka research, craft and yes, even marketing!). I love choosing just the right word, or crafting the perfect metaphor to translate the picture in my head onto paper and then into someone else’s imagination. I also love talking writing with other writers.
Okay, and I struggle to remember that I love all these things when I’m in that scary stage between the ultimate possibility of idea and the reality of getting it on the blank page. But I love the feeling of triumph when I screw up my courage, dive in, and get those words down.
Thanks for making me think about why I write fiction. Now I’ve got to go create some!
Why do I write fiction?? Because I’m able to “suspend disbelief” as the saying goes. I want to write what has always given me pleasure ever since I was able to get my first library card over 50 years ago, and that’s a book that can so quickly and thoroughly suck me into its pages that everything else around me disappears. (and my mom thought I was ignoring her on purpose when I had that book open in my lap as I sat in front of our apartment window on those hot summer days)
You said it better than I could. I love writing. To get into the ‘zone’ of writing is a rush like no other.
I also am beginning to love the challenge of editing, to take a story and shape it to make what I’ve envisioned the best it can be. It’s daunting at times. It’s a different sort of animal altogether. But I see that it’s just as important as the writing if I want to share that with anyone else.
Welcome to the blogging world!
It’s either that or the psych ward.
I love writing fiction because my characters take on a life of their own, they make me laugh, cry and sometimes despair and wonder how its all going to end.
Is there another choice? Does this mean I could be flying a jet or diving for pearls? (suspend your imagination if you know me since I don’t fly or swim)
I write because I feel God gave me this gift to use and I’m trying to use it in a way that glorifies Him.
Writing fiction fulfils a myriad of needs within me apart from all other areas of my life that are beyond my control. It is challanging, cathartic, gratifying, liberating, therapeutic, exciting, adventurous and on and on… It’s a metaphysical balm that eases the pain and disappointments of everyday life.
But most of all, it allows me to share portions of my soul that I find difficult to express by any other means.
I write so I won’t get into car accidents. I tend to daydream when I’m not physically writing, crafting epic adventures whenever the impulse becomes to tempting to resist.
I write so I don’t have to match socks or wash dishes. I’m too busy creating my next, best novel to be disturbed, doncha know.
I write so I don’t have to wear a bra. The computer doesn’t care if I’m in pajamas and truly, my imagination needs all the blood flowing freely to my brain.
I write so I can just say no to drugs. There is nothing quite as exhilerating as the “writer’s high.” When I’m in that zone and the whole world disappears, it’s the end-all, be-all of my existance. Besides, what other ‘drug’ gives you a sellable product when you come down?
In the end, I write because if I didn’t, I would be grading potatoes on a farm somewhere in Wisconsin, on medication because my mind would wander so much, folks would think I had checked out of reality for good.
Seriously, why would I give up safe driving, getting out of household chores, going braless, and a perfeclty legal, free drug to grade potatoes?
I think you said it best with “I’ll tell you why I write fiction. It’s because . . . I can’t NOT write fiction” and “The creation story in the book of Genesis tells us that we are made in God’s image. I have a hunch that part of what that means is that we are creative beings.”
I had never thought about the second until you mentioned it. We ARE created in His image, which means that we are given creativity and humor, the ability to create something from nothing in a sense. It is the most exhilarating thing (believe me– I’ve gone skydiving and white water rafting too) to see world and characters take form under your guidence and then reveal something to you that you hadn’t thought of because they are created in your image and can create something on their own.
As for the first, over the years I’ve tried to stop writing because sometimes it felt like I wasn’t DOING anything. But I couldn’t stop. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop. And once I accepted that (still struggling sometimes), I feel free– this is a gift God has given me so I need to use it to the best of my abilities.
Thank you, Randy, for creating this e-zine (and now blog); I find it a real encouragment that there is someone out there who doesn’t even know me encouraging me to continue writing.
~Jessica
I can’t not write. I have trouble saying what I want to say, what I feel. Writing allows the words that I can’t express aloud, to be heard.
I write fiction for many reasons…because the voices in my head demand to be heard and won’t give me peace until I pen their tales…because God gave me the skills and I have an accountability for the gifts He’s bestowed…because I love to write…and, because (according to my husband) I become a grumpy old lady if don’t write.
Well, I write non-fiction. But I shiver to think that Wendell Berry’s words might be true…
“I have often begun with an actual experience and in the end produced what I have had to call a fiction. In the effort to tell a whole story, to see it whole and clear, I have had to imagine more than I have known. ‘There’s no use telling a pretty good story when you can tell a really good one.'” (p41 The Way of Ignorance)
I write fiction for kids ages 2 and up. I write because I like making up stories, sure, but mostly I write because I want to give kids the joy I had growing up with a book attached to my hands. 🙂 I can still remember my favorite books and have even tracked a few down on alibris.com.
I write because my life is so quirky and so many interesting things have happened to me that I can’t help myself. I want to capture the things I’ve learned and share them with others to the Glory of God. Sounds squirrelly, but it’s true.
I didn’t chose to write. Writing chose me. As a lonely child and insecure adolescent it took the form of poetry and journaling. It was a way to release my emotions and feelings. As a young adult, writing helped me connect to God. After marriage, fiction writing seized me, and wouldn’t let go, though it did loose it’s grip some when I had children. Now it’s back again, sinking it’s claws in deep, and I don’t mind the pain. I relish it.
You asked, “Are we sick? Are we stupid? Are we that desperate for attention?”
Maybe to a non-writer. But like you Randy, I CAN’T NOT write. (Though when it became and idol in my life I had to lay it down for a while.)
So who am I to fight against what God designed and called me to do?
I write fiction as a way of righting the world. In my stories, life unfolds in a way that makes sense to me. There is rest for the weary, redemption for the soul, true love to brighten the heart. Unlike me, my character slogs through hardship and never loses her sense of humor. In my fictional worlds, the stakes are high, and good always triumphs over evil. I always create characters who are people I’d like to meet in real life– even the bad guys! I give birth to a character and he becomes a link in my circle of “real” friends. Best of all, as a writer I can assure the reader of a fun adventure with a happy ending. Writers rock!
I can’t stop. If writing were beer, my family would hold an intervention.
Fictionwise, I’m still in my fanfic stage, and love it, but also 47,000 words into a possible young-adult historical mystery book. My one published non-fiction book is as a mere editor and transcriber, with only a few pages of me in it.
Why start writing fiction now? I’m retirement age. What’s trying to crawl out of the eggshell, at this late date?
It’s not some particular plot. When I have writer’s block, it’s the very lack of a plot that drives me to escape it.
Is it that writing fact expresses my research, memories and opinions, which is all well and good, but fiction also expresses my imagination? Isn’t there more ME on paper in doing fiction, rather than fact?
Responding chaiastically to a line in JK Rowling’s first book, I wrote in part:
It wouldn’t be right to dream, while
Forgetting to live, it seems;
Nor would it be right to dwell on life
And yet forget our dreams.
If someone wants to know my soul a hundred years from now, would I want them to find a few pages of my dry editorial comments — or a few pages of my fiction?
No contest.
I write fiction because of the ideas, drifting past me like a leaf in a brook or a fleck of ash from a deep-woods campfire or a bit of snow. Elusive, indelible, bright and keen, they leave a deep and satisfying ache. The possibilities take my breath away.
I’ve never not written fiction. Before I learned how to write my name in simple block letters I wrote fiction. Granted, I told the stories to my dolls and stuffed animals, and I wrote page after page of scribbles on wide ruled Blue Horse notebook paper. I told my mom they were my stories. She put them in a special drawer in the kitchen. That is where I did my writing, setting at the chrome and green formica topped kitchen table. Some forty plus years later she is still my biggest fan.
What drives me to write fiction? My 1997 Chevy Lumina, of course. It drives me to the coffee shop, the library, and my local writers’ group.
Or am I taking this question a little too literally? 😉
I write fiction because it’s my way of exploring the world around me. Scientists do experiments and test hypotheses. I formulate ideas and test them through the artistic expression of story.
And when I discover something I hadn’t seen before, or come to new insight, it’s the most thrilling thing in the world. Story is like an extra sense for me–it allows me to experience life on a different level than I would without it.
Congrats on the new blog, Randy! It’ll be a lot of fun. 🙂
I write fiction because: 1. I get an idea in my mind and I want to know what happens next, and 2. Because there are lessons to be learned and fiction can teach those lessons without preaching. When a character becomes stronger because of their fictional experience, I hope the reader becomes stronger and learns the life lessons imbedded in the story as well.
I write out of a spiritual, emotional, and intellectual restlessness that can only be assuaged by writing. I’ve written lots and lots about spirituality, creativity, parenting, life in general. But, as for writing fiction, as opposed to nonfiction? I don’t, not really- not yet. I have my characters, my setting, my basic plot; now all I need is courage. Right now I’m standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking a deep pool of water, waiting to jump. One two three go!
I write because if I didn’t I swear my head would explode. Since I have a running story line in my head at all times writing is crucial to keeping me from appearing totally insane to others since I start living and breathing my characters. (OK, I never said I was totally sane to begin with 🙂 )
I used to resist the writing urge within me.
Fiction was not smiled upon by some of the church groups I had been a part of in the past.
I even “repented” one time for making up stories in my head, feeling as though they, somehow, took my heart away from God.
Then one time I had a dream. (“uh oh,” some of you are saying. “just wait for it” I encourage. “this might help somebody.”)
I dreamt of an apple tree in a yard. The apples were falling to the ground and into the street. But no one gathered them up. They rotted where they were. Most of the ones in the street were smashed to worthless.
What a waste, I thought, these apples could be gathered up and used. Even parts of the half rotten ones could be salvaged for apple sauce to feed the children. But when I looked at the house in the yard, I turned away. I knew who lived there, and I knew he would never let me gather the apples. He would even severely shame me for asking.
When I awoke, I thought on the dream. As I considered it, a strong thought came to me that I should not allow those who set themselves up as “in charge” stop me from doing the right thing. The man in the house was a former controlling pastor. At the time, I thought the apples represented children in the world who were being destroyed by the abuse of those “in authority.” I should not be intimidated because these children ultimately belonged to God, and I should gather them up with no fear of those who want to be the “boss” for the sake of being the boss.
Several years later, after reading an inspiring article on writing fiction, I a realized this dream could also apply to writing or any other talent. The woman who wrote the article stated that apple trees produce apples because God made them apple trees. So it is with writers. They write because God made them writers. Apple trees produce apples whether people come along and gather them or not. So writers produce stories whether they, or anyone else does anything with them or not. I need not fear “the powers that be”. I just need to produce apples. Because an apple tree or fig tree that does not produce fruit is worthless.
I write fiction because I breathe.
Because I can’t seem to stop it. After working as a grocery clerk, nursing assistant and home health aide, a variety of clerical and secretarial positions, city bus driver, musuem aide,and substitute teacher to the K-12 set, all while attending college and raising a family, fiddling with the fine art of writing looked like a suitable diversion.
You’re right Randy, we are born to create. Perhaps we even have an innate desire to manipulate. Fiction only flows in a fountain of fact. Unlike reality, we can manipulate fiction.
I didn’t go easily, I write fiction because I was driven to it. Once I began, I found it to be addictive. Now I cannot not write.
Stephen King in his book “On Writing” says that a story is a found thing, pre-existent. I believe this completely. I don’t create my characters, I only uncover them and bring them into the light. My characters aren’t imaginary creations like Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse; they’re real people.
I confessed to my wife that one time I was musing about visiting the city in which one of my stories took place and considered stopping to see so-and-so’s brokerage office. It was a real shock to me when I realized that this would be impossibile!
To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t write fiction. I write nonfiction. Why are you hear then, you ask? I’ve found that the best nonfiction writing is filled with fiction technique. The rhythm and lyrical quality of fiction technique draws readers in, and keeps their attention. Without descriptive quality, without sentences that flow with artistic wordscapes, life change may not happen. I want to tell stories in the context of teaching…Jesus is my example, the One I most desire to please.
If I don’t let the words out of my head, they’ll claw up the drapes and piss on the carpet.
***WARNING: LONG RAMBLE TO FOLLOW***
Ars Gratia Artis!
Why is it that as an artist I forever feel this incredible, inexorable urge to create above all else, as though the entirety of my meaning hinges on my ability to express? I constantly find myself wandering through a sort of pseudo-reality of my own imagination, desperate to unleash it for the whole world to see, yet terrified of the responses. Yet I must follow this urge, this need—follow it to the bitter end.
Whenever I actually finish a project, however, a deep depression settles over me like a smothering miasma of thunderclouds and shame. Inadequacy whispers its name, and I realize that is my own. All my efforts leave me feeling empty, in the end. Yet I dare not cease to dream and to do and to dare. I simply must respond to the scalding heat within that drives me onward like some great engine. The steam inside propels this monstrous machine of who I am—and who I am is perpetually enslaved to the taskmaster of a soul enamored by art.
Art always consumes the artist. The trick is to realize—as Lewis so eloquently states in Till We Have Faces—that the loving is in the consuming.
Half-finished stories, when left too long, tend to die and decompose; soon, like a rotting corpse, the stench is too great to approach, and the story is unceremoniously fastened tight inside a coffin and buried under six feet of loam, over which a moss-covered memorial is erected to commemorate what might have been.
Such is the artist’s bane. And it is not unique to writing: The musician and painter both know the storyteller’s woe. All who strive to create know this burden. We who must respond to the scalding passions within and who are moved to pathos and rage all experience this existential angst at one time or another.
Greatness and tragedy walk hand in hand through the artist’s dwelling place. Imagine the scene: the doors are closed against a cold November wind, but the shutters remain wide open to remind the inhabitant that if the struggle to create is oftentimes bleak, then at least he is not alone in the world. Stark, bare tree limbs form a twisted lattice of barrenness superimposed over a sterile white landscape of gently rolling hills and small streams frozen into silence.
Inside a small fire burns in the hearth. Not exactly cheery, but small and symbolic. The artist paces in front of the fire, hands frenetically flying through the air in wild gesticulations—sometimes raked through the hair or passed before the face—and then waving about again. And still greatness and tragedy stalk the artist, at times stomping through the living room, and at times slipping through the air like haunting wraiths upon their victim.
But never do they leave; never will the artist shake them; never will peace o’ertake the one who strives to be, to dare, to create. This is our curse, this is our calling.
This is our consecration.
Grace and peace,
Andrew
I write because, at heart, I’m just a buck-naked ape searching for a story.
For the Rush!
That burst in my stomach that I last remember feeling when I was locked into the seat at the start of a roller coaster ride, or walking (ok, I really ran) downstairs on Christmas morning as a kid. This feeling gets more elusive as you get older and jaded.
Writing fiction gives it to me every time.
I’m a junkie – I admit it. I think this is a thinly disguised support group.
All these buzzing thoughts in my head torturing me to break out of my head. They incessantly nag at my conscious self and wake me in the middle of the night. So you see, I have no other choice but to get them out of my head, lest they make me crazy. Writing the stories out is the best way to free them.
I write because I can’t help it. Because God gave me the desire to write and whatever small measure of talent I have, and somehow I don’t think the Lord would take it kindly if I buried my gift in a drawer. Or the circular file, for that matter.
Marta Perry
Couple of reasons that I write – because I enjoy “watching” lives develop before me on the paper, yet in a way that is honoring to God, and
not like real life so often does not. Also, I
write because I want to share what I feel like
God has given me to share with others. His message.
His hope. His answers. It can all be shared through the written word. Writing is a gift and I praise Him that He’s given me the desire to use that gift.
I write fiction for a couple reasons. One is that, almost from the time I learned to read, I’ve understood at some level that someone out there was producing all these words that I was reading, and I wanted to be one of those someones. I wanted to be read, and I still do to this day.
The other reason is that I have to write. More and more I’m noticing that my writing is about one of the big questions: What happens to us when we die? I don’t know, but I have created more than one world that serves as a testing ground for possible answers. (Note that I didn’t say “likely” answers. I don’t honestly believe, for instance, that the dead are resurrected in deep space, beyond the orbit of Neptune, in order to wage war on an encroaching civilization of alien ghosts. But it makes, IMHO, for fascinating fiction.)
Maybe a third reason is that I like spinning lies, and writing fiction gets me in less trouble than lying to my wife does.
Hi Randy,
Why do I write fiction? People love stories and I tell a good one.
It’s the perfect way to explore the relationships people have to themselves, their relationships with others and their relationship to the situations in which they find themselves. I talk about these things in story form, one of the oldest ways to pass information along in human history. I explore myself with regard to these relationships at the same time.
Being a human being, I am a perfect personal laboratory rat. It helps me understand why I, and others like me do the things we do.
So why do I really write? People love stories, and I tell a good one.
When I’m writing “in the zone”, I’m on a different planet: weightless, timeless, able to fly. Editing is fun of a different sort, to sift my work with craft and logic.
I write because I’m a hedonist, and it gives me transcendent pleasures.
I am driven to write fiction…for the wonder of it.
Why do I write fiction?
Like my fourteen-year-old would say, “Because I can.” Writing fiction is a craft that I continue to learn by going to writing conferences such as Mount Hermon and participating in a writing group.
Like my eleven-year-old would say, “Because it’s fun.” I’ve enjoyed creating characters and story since I was a scrawny kid.
Like my nine-year-old would say, “Because I want to.” Why else would I work so hard at something and receive so little? I don’t make a lot of money right now, but you never know!
Like my seven-year-old would say, “I don’t know.” I ask myself quite often why I’m drawn to the computer, and honestly, all I can say is God has wired me this way.
I write fiction to entertain and make learning come alive. Frankly, facts, figures, and lengthy historical accounts bore me. National Geographic and the History Channel can be nap inducers. But, if I’m researching and weaving the data into a story, I become enthralled with those same information sources. I learn…and hopefully, tell a good story in the process.
To live in peace and harmony, within and without.
Why do I write fiction?
Like my fourteen-year-old would say, “Because I can.” Writing fiction is a craft that I continue to learn by going to writing conferences such as Mount Hermon and participating in a writing group.
Like my eleven-year-old would say, “Because it’s fun.” I’ve enjoyed creating characters and story since I was a scrawny kid.
Like my nine-year-old would say, “Because I want to.” Why else would I work so hard at something and receive so little? I don’t make a lot of money right now, but you never know!
Like my seven-year-old would say, “I don’t know.” I ask myself quite often why I’m drawn to the computer, and honestly, all I can say is God has wired me this way.
Hmmmm, that isn’t too hard. I knew I was in trouble as a very young child when I couldn’t stop reading everything in site. I started writing too.
I don’t hear voices. I am there in the scenes as an actress and director with each character I create. I knew I was in trouble as an adult author when I started reading a book and began with the first chapter, went to the last chapter, and then went back to the beginning to read the whole story. My husband felt I needed counseling until I could give an explanation. I love to see how other authors reach the conclusion of their hard work. I enjoy taking apart the books that I read and understanding what makes each character tick.
I don’t believe I am sick (well, maybe) I just have the overwhelming desire to drink from the well of life and share with others. My babies have to be born or I will die. Literally, that is the only reason that like a cat, I with Jesus have beaten nine lives and am still here till I am called home.
Mostly I am here to help others along the way. I am no expert, but my grandfather used to tell me to listen to those who were even one day ahead of me in whatever I learned and to always share with others who were one day behind.
Randy, you were the one who said it best and I can’t think of better words than you. I cannot not write, its’ in my blood and I can’t stop it.
Paulette
I write because it’s the one thing I can do all on my own. I put my words to paper and they live. No one can take that away from me.
I create life.
I birth a gift to the world.
Only I can take that gift back. Only I can remove the presence of life. Only I have control over my words.
Writing is mine.
Alone.
Where I find peace.
I write because I can. Because when I was a child I knew it was what I was suppose to do. I writer Christian fiction because it reached me when no one or nothing could. I writer so that the words can reach out to someone else.
I write because if I didn’t, my personality would split and they would have to stash me in one of those round padded rooms with a brand-new jacket!
I love writing. I love being able to create something and know that it came from me. God gave me a gift. He expects me to use it.
So here I go.
I’ve always written, since my first 3 & 1/2 page story at the age of six, which featured almost an entire sentence per page, with original illustrations. ;~)
But what made me want to work at the craft of fiction was reading Francine Rivers’ Atonement Child. That was the first time a work of fiction literally changed my whole life.
I had an abortion as a teenager. The contradiction between my thinking then and with my next pregnancy, a child I wanted, brought me to face my own sinfulness. However, it wasn’t until I read Francine’s book that I realized there was a reason for the mess that remained inside me.
I’d never heard of post-abortion counselling until then. I looked into it, and discovered it was available in the nearest small city. I spent half a year journeying through an incredible amount of suppressed pain and self-condemnation.
At the end of that time, my small-town church took a leap of faith and allowed me to host a memorial for my unborn baby – and for those very secret losses hidden under the fabric of our tiny community. My non-Christian parents attended, and for the first time in ten years, we shared the pain we had all gone through.
I hope my daughter’s nine-week life will eventually lead them to God as well. In the meantime, I know so many people with so much secret pain. I write because I write, but I want to become a writer who connects with the secret place of shame and shows the path to the God who can redeem it all.
J’écris, donc je suis.
(With apologies to Rene Descartes.)
I write because it completes me. Is there anything else to say?
We are made in the Creator’s image and that means we too have the urge to create.
I write for therapy. Writing helps me explore who I am and to understand the viewpoint of others by putting myself in their shoes. It allows me to work through my own problems, to share personal experiences I’ve struggled through, to entertain others, and perhaps I just might help someone else along the way.
As a veterinarian and clinical scientist, I explore the world around me and, through research, contribute to our better understanding of it. As a fiction writer, I get to explore other worlds and universes, to study new and different ideologies and sciences. No matter which hat I’m wearing, I can explore the fascinating question of “What if…?”
I also write because I am dyslexic. As a “bright adult” I was able to compensate well into my college years, but as I progressed in my education, learning became more and more difficult (rote memorizaton is beyond my capabilities). Reading and writing at advanced levels became more and more tortuous for me. Writing, both scientific and fiction, helps cement the rules of grammar (okay, I admit I still rely heavily on SpellCheck and dictionary.com) and improves my ability to read and learn from the written language.
I love to explore and travel and meet new people, whether it’s setting foot on a part of the Earth I’ve never been, taking a journey through the pages of a book or adventuring in a world of my own creation. Reading and writing allow me to go where planes, trains, automobiles, and my own feet cannot.
I write fiction because I believe God’s truths can best be conveyed through Christian fiction. As we read stories about characters who struggle with the same things we have been through, we observe how they handled it and how God’s grace was sufficient for them. We learn along with them what God wants to teach us.
“In the beginning God created…Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image.'”
In Genesis 1, God is shown as a creator. It is in this image I am made. Therefore, I am driven to create. In high school that meant writing or being a sandwich artist.
I decided to write.
I write fiction because I’m a masochist. Where else can you slave in solitary confinement to create something that no one ever thinks will be published, worry constantly about grammar, even in blog entries and emails, talk to yourself, talk to invisible people, go to conferences with others of the same strange bent, have a book shelf full of books on forensics and murder that would worry your family if they looked at your book cases, and not have to wear a straight-jacket?
I also love to write and love words. Only my writing friends understand reading telephone books and dictionaries, bringing a larger suitcase on trips because you couldn’t pack all your reading material and backup reading material in a normal overnight bag, and talking to the invisible people.
Why write fiction? I love fiction. Period.
I write inspirational fiction because: “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name [than Jesus Christ] under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12). I write because I can’t keep the good news inside.
I write to reinvent myself. Through plot or character, I grant myself mercy and a second chance. . .fixing my flaws. . .overcoming in fiction the fears I can’t face in real life.
A hundred twenty-one comments for you to read!? Ai-yi-yi.
Anyway, I write to avoid insanity. Writing is therapy, and since I can’t afford the other kind, I guess I’ll keep on writing.
I write fiction because if I wrote the truth I would be broke and quite possibly killed.
Writing takes me somewhere I can’t get to otherwise. Hopefully I can take someone along for the ride who enjoys it as much as I do. When I was a child I read fiction as an escape, I became the character and was able to live in a way reality did not allow. Now, writing even a paragraph of fiction lets me once again, become someone else… long enough to realize how wonderful my own reality is.
You’re going to read all these??? Eek! Well, congrats for getting this far!
I write my stories because they’re bursting up inside of me and begging to be told. I tried to squash them once and forbid myself from writing, but it was like spurning a lover and I couldn’t help but come back on my knees with begs and pleas and thankful rejoicings when God opened the doors again to put words on paper.
Simply: I write because it’s in the very fabric of who I am. To deny myself writing would be to cut off my own arms.
I don’t write fiction at this point. But I did. I set my historical-inspirational novel aside, because I wasn’t ready, and I determined to keep submitting short nonfiction, including articles and devotionals.
This morning, however, on a whim, I submitted to a contest. The purpose of the contest? To write an inappropriate, fictional cover letter. The silliness of what I wrote made me chuckle, but I felt it must really be funny when my witty 22-year-old son read the letter and laughed out loud.
Writing that letter felt better than anything I’d written so far. When you do something, and it’s the right thing for you to do, you know it. So maybe I’m a fiction-writer after all. I just have to find my niche.
Writing is cheaper than therapy.
😉
I write because if I didn’t, I would live each day mourning a lost love.
“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.” — from The Color Purple.
I write to show that I noticed.
I write fiction for two reasons: to give back some of the joys I’ve received from reading it and because, as my mother always told me, I have a much too active imagination and might as well put it to good use.
I WRITE FICTION BECAUSE I AM NOT, DON’T WANT TO BE, AND NEVER WILL BE A NAKED APE! IT’S LIFE, IT’S LOVE, IT’S ME! I AM FREE!
Osmosis. All the salty, high solvent stuff from observing people and life have accumulated in my brain, and now this must pass, in it’s altered form, to an area of low solvent potential: the blank page.
I write to explore what I am learning and share it with others…and also to get all those wild and crazy characters out of my head and onto the paper so they can live a life of their own.
I write to stop the voices in my head. No, not stop the voices, but rather share them. After years of being labeled a daydreamer, of being unable to concentrate on the the outside world because my mind so wildly entertained me, I thought others may be entertained also. And there is nothing better than seeing your name in print! I’m 44 years old and I learn to write everyday.
What drives me to write fiction? I don’t drive, I just take my train of thoughts . . .
But anyway, it’s almost as much fun as reading, and more satisfying.
Hi Randy. Did you realize the can of worms you would open with this comment thing? 😉 Yeesh, how to express something that’s been said 100+ times?
Well, firstly, I’m no pro. I’ve only recently taken a “Serious Interest” in writing fiction for publication. I’m in that rose-tinted, adorably naive stage — you know the one. Writing like a woman (or man) possessed, putting thought to paper, following My Story as it may lead. Losing whole hours. Assuring my co-workers that, no, I am not deathly ill. Yes, I do so always look pale and sleepy. I’ve yet to experience the harships you mentioned in your blog post. While it sounds scary, I also relish the waiting… wanting to feel the accomplishment that will inevitivbly follow the toil and sweat that I’ve poured into My Story.
I’ve seen stellar reasons listed in the comments above mine. (Yes, I read them all. How could I prepare a useful comment without reading the others? I would essentially be repeating the first 20, and no one likes redundancy.) Reasons like God’s calling, not being able to “hold it in.” Avoiding frolicking in a padded room that is lined with Mirage People who are telling you all about themselves all at once and laced with frequent candy visits from a pretty woman who wears a stethoscope for a necklace.
But when I think of why I write, I can only come up with one response: you darn well know why I write. Why we all write.
We. Must.
I HAVE TO. It’s beyond breathing or escapism or even existentialism. It’s a requirement for us. There is no “why”. Trying to vocalize something so ridiculously simple is like trying to explain complex physics algorythms to your daffodils. You may as well ask a newborn why he decided to make his grand entrance when he did. You’d get a stern “You’ve got to be kidding, right?” eye-cut from the kid, because he has the same reason. He had to.
Now, I’m not worried about going nuts. If I ended up in a padded cell, I’d use my own shite and blood as Geoffrey Rush depicted so mystically in “Quills” playing the Marquis de Sade. (sorry about that – sometimes the references I use run amuck).
And before you reach for the phone to call our friends in white — those friends who can give me this opportunity — I urge you to consider one point: You asked.
I don’t know, absolutely, why I write. There are many reasons. Maybe I write fiction to discover the truth, and that would be very strange and very sad too, because some of what falls upon the page like raindrops clichéd over and over again from heaven, are not even letters, only tears–nothing cliché about tears. They are what they are and you can’t earn a dime from them.
Who though, writes only to earn money? Oh, how many other ways one could do that. Ways that don’t involve sentencing oneself to a prison term, alone at some place neatly defined as “Mine” that is stacked aggressively with reference books and tenderly decorated with small jars of glass beads set upon the window sill, coloring the light from outside, the same outside where prisoners dream of going after long terms inside their boxed cells.
It can sometimes be that way: the spot to do all of this meaningful work, no matter how much a typical man’s place with leather chairs and perhaps even the latest full swing golf simulator, or a woman’s, with soft ruffled cushions laying next to a copy of “Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul,” it’s still confining and still can be lonely.
Despite attempts at creating comfort and validation in the primping of “My Writing Space” or “My Office” to ensure that anyone nearby knows that important work is being performed, the writer still yearns for the company of others–even if they don’t know it or won’t admit it.
J.K. Rowling didn’t fight that insight; she did much of her writing in a coffee shop so she could be in a hub, next to the hoi polloi. That was her space, in the middle of everyone else’s.
Maybe the worst thing about writing is discovering terrible villains, not on some dark and stormy night, but in the middle of a hot July afternoon when coffee shop people have abandoned the stuffy indoors for camping at the lake, and you as a writer know that even camping takes money, and you spent all of yours on decorating your space, reference manuals, traveling to writer’s conferences, and that cutting-edge golf simulator.
So I’m supposed to be writing about all of the wonderful reasons I write and out comes the dark side. Woe is me. Say it isn’t so…but this is life…the unexpected that comes under the weight of the pen, behind the glow of the screen in the darkness of that lonely space; this is how I find the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why I write.
Blessings,
Joleena Thomas
“What Drives You To Write Fiction?”
The real world sucks!
Walt McElligott
Beecher, Eastern Will County, IL USA, 60401, POB 452,
For every thought I have that intrigues me a story is conceived; each story written is a conception born. I write fiction to create life and I keep at it to provide fodder for the thought-life of my readers.
I began my first “novel” when I was seven years old because I knew I could write. For me it was as natural as talking, which I had been doing since before my first birthday. I promised myself to be a published author before I graduated from high school at age 16. Okay, so it didn’t happen. No problem. I’m resilient. And now I have too many stories floating around in my head to think straight. I will continue to write fiction because that is what I do. It is part of who I am. I will continue to write fiction even if I never see my name in print, although I really hope I do.
By the way, I find it impossible to write pure fiction because truth just seems to creep into it. Does that mean it is also impossible for me to to write pure fact?
Well, to me it’s a normal reaction to life and everything that spins around it. OK, sometimes I write out of passion and compassion, or emotion. Yet most of the time I do it simply because I love writing, i.e., living in a constant world of “mental movies,” in which I am the producer and the actor and the music composer, and everything else. In sci-fi, it is like being in a world of your own–not just doing what we call, “alien world building.” And, did I mention, there are no laws and rules and regulations and restrictions and limits to writing? If ther are, then you’re a wingless angel or a drowned fish, or simply no-good freedom fighter.
The passion within cannot be denied. Believe me. Tears don’t drown it. Throwing fits doesn’t scare it away. Pretending it’s not there just brings clouds of oppression. Shutting down one’s heart is never a good idea.
I write because God has placed the passion within me to speak Truth into the darkness and to join with Him in the ministry of His grace through speaking and writing my stories.
When I try to run, He presses upon me, calling me back, taking me through deep waters and kiln fires until the ember is once again flaming passion and my soul breathes again on my keyboard.
I’ve written in diaries & other bits here & there. The web means that anyone can write something others can read (i.e. me).
Currently, I’m expanding the 1885 story “Little Lord Fauntleroy”. Why? Fauntleroy says he wants to stop wars (oops—WW I & 2 happened..guess that didn’t work so well) And Mr. Hobbs (the local grocer) thinks he would be “a shining light in the grocery business” – so maybe adult Lord Cedric coordinates feeding of orphans after the World Wars…and on and on and on…And of course my favorite horror story villains (the Nazis and their “cousins” the Communists) join in.
Maybe I like expanding out an existing story. So far, my fauntleroy files go out 200 years (1800-now) because I had to account for why the Grandpa of Cedric is so bitter, and why his sister Lady Constantia is so good…
Perhaps the old Lord was friends with that nice group of personally gentle men whose scientific and parlor room ideas so changed the 20th Century: quiet Charles Darwin and his devout wife Emma, Francis Galton, Darwin’s genius cousin (whose Eugenics ideas the Nazis pushed to the max) Huxley & the rest…
Perhaps real life activist for the abused children in mine labor and for literacy – Lord Shaftesbury, will be a lifelong friend also. Perhaps that fine Christian man will be ignored as the Earl parties on…until that horrible day when the Earl is 70 and old Lord Shaftesbury is in his 80’s and the Earl faces a horrible crisis concerning Little Lord Fauntleroy, possibly “the only human being he’s ever loved.”.
Anyway, I am presently sorting all this out because I want to find out what happens to Fauntleroy, his family & friends.
Stark, raving insanity to fulfill dreams and visions of writing the best yet to come.
I write because it fulfills something within my soul. More than jotting down a story, there is the creating of a setting/world, characters and plots. My writing enriches my mind because I am always researching, looking for knowledge on things I never knew before, bringing me new experiences I don’t think I would otherwise have. Sure, I would love to be a published writer someday, with fans who enjoy all my hard work, but that’s really the icing on the cake. My writing is simply who I am.
When I write, things happen. Characters do the unexpected. They change and grow in directions that I hope and pray I change and grow in someday, and it’s exciting to see people you created become their own people.
If I wasn’t a writer and I told others that the people in my head were doing things on their own, I would be committed by a few well meaning, but scared friends and family members. But with the proud label of “WRITER” on my nametag, they simply say “What an imagination she has”, and I am able to walk among the “normal” people for one more day.
Well, I haven’t written anything yet, that is to publish. But I have bits and pieces of stores written down. I do it because it’s a part of me that I love, a part of me that I can’t express and it gives me speech. It is a part of me that is my eyes and lets me share with the world the pictures and excitement that I see in my head. It’s my way of communicating with myself, and everyone else to. It’s my spirit, my love, and my passion. I want to make people happy, excited, sad, scared, and in love with my stories. Thats why I do it.
I write for the same reason I breath: it keeps me alive! I am compelled to write. It’s not something I can stop doing.
I write for the same reason a duck swims, a greyhound runs or an eagle soars. I am never more happy than when I’m writing. It is better than chocolate or a fried chicken dinner with Aunt Ruth’s potato salad.
I write, not to impress people, but to influence them. It is what God has given me me to do so I can make a difference in this world.
I write so that I can leave a legacy for the next generation so that they may know HIM.
I write because words are powerful — God created the world with them — and I, in His image, get to create a world with my words, too. What a privilege! What an honor! What a blast!
I love to write a story that touches others with God’s truth, love and hope.
A scared little girl hides silently in a dark corner, hoping to not be noticed. Stories spinning silently to mask the silence roaring in her ears. Weaving words, praying for a happily-ever-after.
I write because I am alive. I write because I want to be heard. I walk through a crowded mall and an arguing couple capture my wandering thoughts. What if she…what would he do? What did he…how did she react? I can’t help myself. I allow my imagination to once again search and twist the happy ending. I can control the characters. If I can control my readers emotions…it’s better than…chocolate.
I write fiction because one day long ago my Uncle put a book in my hand about a young girl who wrote stories, just like I did and I realized as I read it that this was my story – I am a writer. There was one scene in the book where the girl reads a story to a friend and that friend is changed and I knew in the depths of my soul that I wanted to do that, that I could do that, that perhaps it was what I was born to do. It took me many years to admit it, many more to hone the skills, and I’m still on that learning curve. My first novel, One Smooth Stone will be released in September.
It’s great to see you’re launching a blog, Randy. I’ll be a frequent reader.
:)M
I write for the thrill of story and character development. On paper I can give a home to the stories that are played out in my mind, movie-style.
I write to create a world of honesty, revealing unpleasant truths as well as offering the hope of redemption.
I write to entertain–to lighten the load of the reader–to provide a way of escape into the world of make-believe.
I write to solve the “what ifs” of the world.
I write, because if I didn’t, the words would have no place to go. The scenes would crowd out the facts in my brain and I would go crazy. Writing is the release valve of the pressure cooker of life.
Congratulations on your new blog, Randy. I’ve enjoyed every issue of your marvellous e-zine, and look forward to even more of your virtual company through your blog.
You will be updating every day, won’t you? I’m subscribed and waiting by my inbox with bated breath!
Why do I write?
I have been shaking my head at myself lately, sure that no sane person would sink so much time into writing with so little to show for it – yet I can’t stop either. (Yeah, even with your cool snowflake outlines my words still drip out slowly.)
I love to analyse people and their actions, and figure out what the Word of God has to say about it all. Then, through the experiences and development of my characters, I get to take those doctrines out of the realm of the theology books and test them out “for real” in my story world. It’s not a big issue to me whether my work is ever published, as creating these stories is in itself a wonderful spiritual journey for me, and will hopefully communicate something of the wonder of God to those who read them.
And now, having all these characters and their experiences come to life in my mind, I’m compelled to keep on writing, not only to learn how to communicate these ideas better, but because I’m running out of room for all the people up there! While my character’s stories are unwritten they give me no rest, but once they are written they are free …. and so am I …. to begin dealing with the next set of characters and issues who are jostling for their place at the front of the queue.
I write fiction because I have an imagination that doesn’t quit. I imagine ongoing conversations between persons that may be generated by overhearing a comment made between women who wait in line at the post office. I expand mentally on the “what ifs” in life when faced with a new or unusual, happy or sad, bizarre or mundane situation. I create a character in my mind based on the craggy face of an old man at church who stares vacantly into the distance, or the soft, milken complexion of a young boy who wistfully stares at a toy in a store window as his mother tugs him away by the hand. It doesn’t stop. I don’t want it to stop. I write because I want to get to know and then convey what makes people cry, laugh, get angry, and feel joy. Sometimes I think this imagination is a curse, when in reality, I know it’s a blessing.
I write fiction because:
1. I can’t stop myself, despite my best efforts.
2. I write to get the stories out of my head.
3. I write to explore ideas and combinations.
4. Writing is a lot less scary than oral storytelling.
5. People worry when I don’t.
I write fiction because I don’t know any better.
Seriously, it releases a part of me that has no other release.
HI Randy, Great to have you on the Blog Roll Call. Look forward to your posts. (We met last summer at the Oregon Christian Writers Conference. I was only a member last year, now I’m the one holding the money bag as treasurer).
Ernie
Clackamas, OR
We, as God’s crowning creation, have been placed under creative unction and it drives us to bring him glory. Glory through story. For me, it is the tension of real to reel … that is to say, real truth plays itself out on the sprockets of my mind’s reel.
So as scenes unfold, I simply must deliver them with animation and trust the projectionist. God, as projectionist, supplies the light to show, and I get to ride the sprocketed ‘teeth of tension’ that is creative fiction.
What a ride! What a ride indeed!!
I write because it’s who I choose to be. A creative individual that must make sense out of life. What it is, where it’s going. Writing allows me the illusion of control, yet in reality I am only narrowing down the myriad possibilities into a manageable (sometimes) flow.
To tell a story is to be human. We all tell stories, we are stories. But writers choose a different medium to share their stories with others. In a way we tell stories on two levels. As a human who writes and as the creator of that which is written.
Ultimately I write because I cannot not write, It is both that simple and that difficult.
I have ALWAYS loved to write. Ever since I was little, I would write stories about who knows what. Even if I wasn’t writing stories, I would be reading books, or “playing pretend” (pretty much acting out stories) with my friends.
So, why do I love to write fiction? Well, one reason is because, like most everyone else in the world, I do not really like who I am or how my life is. Life as a teenager living in the suburbs really isn’t that exciting. Sure there’s high school drama and softball games, but that doesn’t really give me the thrill that I’m looking for. What’s really exciting is, well, really anything that you can find in a story. Action, adventure, drama, you name it, stories have it. That’s where I’d rather be, as opposed to a quiet and painfully boring cul de sac.
I also love the characters. I can only pray that I can do some of the things that most fictional characters do in their exciting lives. Basically, I envy characters, their situations, ect. I want to be like them and do what they do.
So, why don’t I just read stories? Well, I’m quite the control freak. Naturally, I want to make the perfect story for me, the kind of story that I’d want to read.
The thing is, though, in fiction, it’s not all about pleasing the writer. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Now don’t think that I;m the type of writer who doesn’t really care what the reader thinks. I LOVE constructive critisism on my works. In fact, I always give my friends the latest chapters of my book just to see theit reactions. The fact is, it amazes me that I can take someone, and just by giving them words on paper, can give them a door into the deepest recesses of my mind and imagination.
As I grew older, I began to lose intrest in writing. Sure I loved it, but honestly, it was a big pain. Then I developed obsessive compulsive disorder. Let me tell you, OCD is like hell. I got headaches everyday from the constant obsessing and compulsing that I was doing and I began to get depressed. I needed a vacation from my hell. So, I began writing again and discovered something magical. When I write, I get so absorbed into the lives of my characters and thier troubles, that I forget about my own. I cannot even begin to describe to you how big a relief even a small break from something like OCD is. Not only that, but it’s a great way to vent your feelings and is extremely relaxing.
So, the question again: why do I write? Well, I love everything about it. Between living in the lives of my characters and analyzing the look on my friends faces when they read the latest chapter of my book. Honestly there is nothing more that I can say here except that writing is a blessing, and the only reasons that I love writing are those that were obvious to me after thinking for five or ten minutes. There are no doubt A LOT more reasons to write than this. Well, I have to go now. It’s almost time for bed and I still have to write a few more pages of my book.
I write because I want to find out why the ideas seemed so wonderful in my head. Where did they come from and where are they going? Why did I have them? What do they mean? I cannot find the answers unless I follow them to their natural conclusion and by doing that, I also find out what the pre-story is as well. And all this allows me to figure out why I had them (and the answer is NEVER what I thought it would be!!)And the reason the ideas are so wonderful? Because it means I am alive!!! And that sure beats the alternative….
I write fiction because I can tell the truth without really telling the truth. I can birth characters in my imagination from a mosaic of people that have affected me so profoundly that I’ve never been able to tell them so. I can construct circumstances from possibilities that should never have happened but did. I can take a seed of an idea and grow it into a world that I control…that is, until my characters take over. And when they do, that’s the coolest thing of all. That’s when I know that I’m really writing fiction.
I was born an engineer. I’ve struggled all my life to create the new, and to imagine what might be. I was forced out by the economy and age (50s) in 2002. I had to do something… I MUST have an outlet for my creativity.
I’ve also been involved in online, multi-person, virtual reality since 1997 and was frustrated that I couldn’t create in my virtual world what I saw in my mind–due to the limitations of technology. So I started to write what could not be modeled or scripted. My first stories were about VR and explored the question, “Where does virtual end and reality begin?”
My current literary project includes a genetically engineered race that lives in the world of humans and struggles with their own issues as well as trying to fit into the greater society. I like the ability to create a character from the genes up: the way they think, which forces them to use a different education system for their young; their reproductive system, which makes it hard to relate to humans; and how those things shape their society. I’ve taken a male of my new species, a loner, and given him a compelling reason to need a lover and mate; Next I gave him a human woman who wants him as much as he needs her. Fun stuff!
So… maybe that sums it up. Why do I write? “Fun stuff!”
Well, what else can you do to silence the hero and villain that keep arguing inside your head, except trap them on a nice, quiet sheet of paper.
I write because I’m forever making up stories in my head. I write because sometimes it’s the only way I can work out things I’m trying to understand. I write because it’s a way to share my thoughts with others. It’s a way to touch other people from all over.
It’s a way to teach when people don’t even realize they’re learning.
It’s a passion.
I write because my cat can’t. She’d love to keep me home, paying the bills and all, but her spelling is atrocious and her claws get caught-up in the keys (well, we all know how that goes). It’s the site of my backside heading out the door she just can’t take. She hates the fact I have an outside job. The only solution is for me to hone my craft, get published, then stay home and buy her cat food.
I have found that she’s an excellent editor ever since she found the delete button — keeps me from rambling on…
Cat Friskees anyone?
Fiction is a wonderful way to teach God’s truths. As I observe characters struggling with the things I struggle with, I keep reading to find out what God teaches them through the struggle. Thereby, I learn how to deal with my own. I want to be one of God’s spokesmen, giving his messages through fiction.
Writing fiction is the only thing I do for ME. If it is good, I created it. If what I write stinks, again I alone take the credit. I am not suggesting God does not inspire me, or I don’t depend on others to teach me, critique me, encourage me, etc. But, this one thing…..it’s mine.
I write to cleared-out my mind from the multitude of thoughts and ideas swimming around so that I can fall asleep each night.
nice to see you in the blogosphere!
I write for three reasons:
1. The voices tell me to.
2. It keeps me from killing real people.
3. To help everyone else around me stay sane.
Why do I write? Let me count the reasons.
1) Since my stories are fanfiction based, I get to play with the “lives” of characters I know and care about. This is great fun, and I get to make other fans happy at the same time.
2) I enjoy learning new skills. Writing fiction required plenty of this. Luckily the Internet, including your sites and newsletters, provided the instructions I needed to help me improve each new story.
3) I love a challenge as long as there is little phyical risk. With writing, my characters are the only ones who have that worry. I can have fun playing with various forms of telling a story. A couple I like the best would probably fall under the catagory of flash fiction. On the fan site we call them drabbles. You have to make every word count when you only have 100 to 500 words to set the scene, reveal your characters, state the conflict and then resolve it in a satisfactory way. Last year for one our fanzines, we were only allowed 55 words! Actually it was much easier than I expected.
4) I’ve always loved fiction. It’s been my favorite form of intertainment whether via a book, movie, or TV program. Writing stories lets me do what I love while having control of the content and learning a new craft.
5) I wanted to be a writer way back in high school, but gave up on the idea becasue writing in long hand takes too much time and I hate using a typewriter. Now 30 plus years later, I’ve found that using a word processing program is perfect for me. It’s so easy to make changes. I don’t have to try to read my horrible hand-writing, deal with scratched out words, or use cases of correction fluid to fix my typing errors. Now I can concentrate on the story waiting to get from my head to words on a page.
6) My dream is to be a published author someday. There’s only one way to reach that goal. Write!
I write fiction to evoke reality.
I write to escape reality. I can create my own world. My writing is based in places that I know, but in a different time. I transport myself into my stories, I become the characters, and see what they see through my own experience. It’s like writing your own dream. You know, those vivid, colorful dreams that get so intense, you suddenly pop awake, and it takes a moment for you to descern what is real and what is part of your dream. Sometimes I feel like that after an intense burst of writing. It’s an addictive feeling…
There are 175 comments as I’m posting this. There may be even more in the cue awaiting moderation. Now that’s an effective blog launch!
Congratulations Randy!
I write because life doesn’t give me enough frustration and rejection.
Or enough satisfaction and joy.
I write fiction because real life can always be made just a tad more believable. 😉
Well, the way I see it, I don’t have a lot of choice. God calls me and addles my brain with these plots and people and “what if?”s and I figure I either put them on paper (or in document) or I go mad. ‘Course I go mad putting them on paper/in document, so I guess either way I’m doomed. But the madness of writing has a much better payoff. 🙂
Why do I write fiction? I recently saw a TV programme about Ernest Hemmingway, who seems to have committed suicide because he could no longer write. Writing was so much a part of his being that he could not exist without it. The same is probably true of many other artists whose deeply ingrained mode of being fuses them with their art.
Others who fail to identify so strongly with a particular form of expression merely write in a more casual way, interspersed with other creative activities. The creative artist is distinct from Joe Blow in drawing on inner resources, however poor, and directing them towards the production of something economically unnecessary, something non-utilitarian.
For those who have stopped writing, like Hemingway, the question becomes, why can I no longer write? The answer will depend a great deal on individual circumstances as well as on the self-image derived from being a writer. If the driving force was psychological, writing may exorcise the demons and leave behind an empty shell who no longer needs to write.
One difficulty in writing serious fiction is the subject matter. Most fiction writers talk about society, and what they have to say is limited by their experience as well as imagination. Reclusive writers, like Kafka, made a lot out of very limited experience, while others, like Conrad and Hemingway, drew upon a rich vein of life experience.
Because the role of the average individual is small in relation to today’s society the volume and significance of the single voice is commensurately insignificant, unless amplified by some medium, like TV or publishing. The need to conform to today’s stultifying conventions and beliefs is enough to inhibit many writers of fiction, who realise they are living in a fictional world constructed by the media and corporate advertising. Writing to please an indoctrinated proletariat in the hope of achieving popular success is not much of an incentive to the outsider.
In the end, one writes because one has something to say. This compulsion to formulate and propagate a unique message, distilled perhaps from some strong experience, is widely accepted as a valid reason to continue with the struggle. This too is a conventional view; a rationalisation approved and propagated by popular commentators.
When Harold Pinter diverts his activity away from plays and poetry towards politics, he is reacting more directly to the problems of the day than when wallowing in the twilight of his subconscious. At such a juncture, writing is abandoned in favour of more urgent action.
The problem for the serious fiction writer is to deconstruct the highly fictionalised social context into something more meaningful. This is not a new task, since writers of the past inhabited even more deluded societies than our own. The task of the real writer, then, begins with breaking the conventional mask of popular belief and constructing a deviant fiction to replace the establshed ways of seeing the world. This replacement of new masks for old is a step towards revealing a reality that can never finally be attained.
I write because 1)I want to live in that particular world at that moment; 2) The old ‘what if…’ is knocking at the door to my brain; and 3) I can’t find the book that tells the story that I want to read.
I write fiction because I have to. In spite of the low pay, I’m determined to make a living out of this because I DON’T WANT TO WORK A DAY JOB ANYMORE. I love writing and I’ve discovered, late in life (when I was 28) that this is what I want to do when I ‘grow up.’ I wished I had figured this out when I was ten, twenty, or 23, but at 28, I discovered this is what I want to do on a daily basis. For the last 12 years I’ve been busy trying to make it happen! Although I’ve had 3 books commercially published, I still work a day job, but I’m determined to change that, eventually! 🙂
I write Christian fiction because I’ve got this “thing” about writing in 80,000 words or more a point that Jesus made in ten words or less.
I write fiction in order to become immortal. The body of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. has returned to where he came from; however, he will live on with his great written contributions to the world. I feel like I know Samuel Clemmens as well as I do most of my friends – because of what he wrote long before I was ever born. What a gift to the world. I wish to leave a piece of me, through written fiction, when it’s time for me to move on.
I write because I dream.
I write becuase it gives me reason to breathe.
I write for a few reasons.
The first being that I read. All the time. I love it. And my brain lives with ‘What ifs’ every waking moment.
The second has to do with this quote below. It’s from a book of screenplays by Kurosawa. It’s not about writing, more about the way we approach life. And it inspired me to keep writing when it was all sort of falling apart:
The movie Ikiru (To Live) “… consists of a restrained affirmation within the context of a giant negation. What it says in starkly lucid terms is that ‘life’ is meaningless.
At the same time, one man’s life can acquire meaning when he undertakes to perform some task which to him is meaningful. What anyone else thinks about that man’s life is beside the point, even ludicrous. The meaning of his life is what he commits the meaning of his life to be. There is nothing else.”
Writing is the meaning of my life. It doesn’t matter what, as long as I’m writing.
Someone once said that we can live without that vacation, without a better house, even without food for a day or two. But we cannot live without our dreams. And, as a writer, I create and validate dreams, for myself and for others.
I write because I dream.
I write because it’s at least one thing I won’t regret the morning after.
Writing is like the best chocolate in the box. Saved for the quiet late evening when the rest of the world is, finally, asleep and I can open my ‘book file’ like the wormhole in my physics text. I can peek in, start typing and get sucked into an alternate universe where my characters tend to arm wrestle me into following what they wish to do. I’m a weak and lily- livered bystander most of the time.
Perhaps I write so I have an answer when my husband asks, “Who are you arguing with?” I can say, “Oh, it’s Duncan again. He’s determined to be the main character of this piece.”
I had a friend who called me to say, “I can’t wait to find out what happens next,”so I must sign off here for now and open that file……….
I am just a simple person who has over the years been ecouraged to continue to write. If this is what God has as my soul purpose then I guess doors will open more and if not then it was never meant to be. Writing has offered me an escape from the real world because sometimes the real world is a very hard place to live in.
I write because what ever I say I want to make a difference in the world around me. I believe that God gave me the gift to write and it’s not something that I can take for granted. If I can say one thing that will touch a person’s life or helps someone from what I have learnt that would mean a lot to me more so then all the vast riches in the world. I hope that any of my experiences expressed will help the reader to think about or get in touch with a deeper need for God.
I write poetry and have written a few short stories. I have also written my testamony that I did as a high school project when I went back to adult education. I have yet to work on a novel and if I do it will have to come deeply from the spirit of God if he wants me to put it down on paper.
I do also have a desire to write stories for children and teens because I don’t think is enough books out there written as much for that age group. When I was a teenager I don’t remember ever coming across too many writers for those age groups. I would like to reach out to a more secular market. Mainly because I wasn’t raised in a Christian family and the struggles I went through hopefully can help someone who may or could be in my shoes.
Please note I cannot give my real name out because God only knows why and I am not at liberty to explain that why publically.
God Bless
I am just a simple person who has over the years been ecouraged to continue to write. If this is what God has as my soul purpose then I guess doors will open more and if not then it was never meant to be. Writing has offered me an escape from the real world because sometimes the real world is a very hard place to live in.
I write because what ever I say I want to make a difference in the world around me. I believe that God gave me the gift to write and it’s not something that I can take for granted. If I can say one thing that will touch a person’s life or helps someone from what I have learnt that would mean a lot to me more so then all the vast riches in the world. I hope that any of my experiences expressed will help the reader to think about or get in touch with a deeper need for God.
I write poetry and have written a few short stories. I have also written my testamony that I did as a high school project when I went back to adult education. I have yet to work on a novel and if I do it will have to come deeply from the spirit of God if he wants me to put it down on paper.
I do also have a desire to write stories for children and teens because I don’t think is enough books out there written as much for that age group. When I was a teenager I don’t remember ever coming across too many writers for those age groups. I would like to reach out to a more secular market. Mainly because I wasn’t raised in a Christian family and the struggles I went through hopefully can help someone who may or could be in my shoes.
Please note I cannot give my real name out because God only knows why and I am not at liberty to explain that why publically.
God Bless
I have a story to tell, and find that the only way I can tell that story, listen to it over and over, before telling, it is by writing fiction.
Please do correct the mistake in the comment just above. The comma in the second line was intended after ‘it’, so that the comment will rightly read, “I have a story to tell, and find that the only way I can tell that story, listen to it over and over, before telling it, is by writing fiction”.
Thanks
I love the question, “What if …?” Since I am “recall challenged,” I have to write the answer before I forget it. And since I’m obsessive about communication, I have to write it as well as I can. In fact, if I’m prevented from writing I get discouraged, depressed and despondent. Far better to write than to live in a blue funk.
I love writing fiction because:
-It gives me a voice.
Yes, that’s it. I could count a hundred, a thousand other reasons, but it all goes back to that. I am a shy, introverted, bullied, stubborn kid, that always convinced herself that she never had the patience to be amazing. Except reading, but that wasn’t really a skill. Until I learned it was, until I learned about Anna Frank and that writing stories can turn to writing books and that writing books is a skill. So the shy, introverted, bullied, stubborn kid decided to be amazing. And voilá, five years later and here am I, still writing.