People I know without the drive to write fiction often ask me why I spend so much time and effort in putting my thoughts down on paper. Most folks I associate with are quite logical, and writing fiction is rather illogical on many levels. The chance of getting published is slight and if this does happen, the chance of becoming known (or even rich and famous) are very slim.
Writing does take a decent amount of time away from other aspects of my life (and those other parts of my world also steal away from my writing time, so the balance is usually fair.) I could, perhaps, abandon my quest for publication, but this will never happen. I do not write to become a published author. I write to share my thoughts, ideas, worlds, characters, stories, inventions, and part of my very soul with other people.
If they enjoy my efforts, there is no way to measure my joy. If a kind eye is not focused on my text, and harsh words are said, I am greatly disappointed, but I use those emotions and reactions to fuel my drive to write.
What is my goal? Of course, I have a strong desire to see my name on the cover of a book sitting on a shelf at eye level in the “Current Releases” section of a major book store. I’d love to attend a book signing and be That Guy With The Pen. I will most certainly need a new pair of shorts the first time I hear the words, “You’re one of my favorite authors.” Despite all of these platitudes, my goal of writing is quite simply to tell stories. I hope to entertain, educate, enlighten, or just plain amuse my readers.
I have so many stories in my head, I have an incredibly hard time deciding which ones are worthy for putting on paper let alone getting in front of another set of eyes.