Because I Can

February 15, 2010

Had a completely horrid weekend. Friday afternoon I finished off a big chunk of the huge annoying project I'm working on and sent it off to the publisher and updated the client, then, feeling exhausted, I laid down on the couch for a while. Then I dropped my car off at the garage for a repair, met my wife, came home, laid back down on the couch, feeling very tired, then around 5:30 started vomiting at approximately the speed of sound. That fun, from both ends, so to speak, didn't end until midnight or so, and then I was dead the rest of the night and much of Saturday until 4:00 AM Sunday morning when my wife started up with it. Happy Valentine's Day, honey!

So far, knock wood, the kids haven't gotten it.

And yesterday I had to do some work because I've got deadlines. That's one of the single worst aspects of being a writer. You can't even be sick and stay away from the job.

But during the, er, roller coaster fun of the weekend, I spent a fair amount of time with a glazed look on my face contemplating my writing career, sort of, and skimming through a book about making 6-figures as a freelance writer and contemplated my fiction output.

And decided, when all is said and done, that the primary reason I write and publish fiction these days is because I can.

It's clearly not for the money, although I do hope it makes more in the future than it does now.

I find it fun to write novels, but I find many things fun, like playing the guitar and biking and kayaking and lifting weights and watching movies and reading books and going out to eat. And I'm sure there are many other things out there in the wider universe that I would find fun to do, too, that wouldn't frustrate me as much as writing fiction (and it's possible some of them would be as rewarding, too).

So, I decided, I probably write and publish fiction because I can and because I want to. Maybe even need to, although that's a little strange. Need to? Well, some psychological reflexiveness, perhaps.

Anyway, how about you?