When asked why he writes gruesome stories, Stephen King says, “what makes you think I have a choice?”

When asked why I write what I write, I quote King. I have no choice. If I did, I’d write the wittiest, most insightful and clever screenplays in the world and I’d be a bazillionaire.

I blog about my life, but I don’t write it all. Not by a long shot. Please. Nobody does that – remember Warhol’s film of that guy sleeping? Yeah. I watched it for three minutes and thought I was going stark raving mad. I think I ran, screaming, from the building. Most of my life is like that guy sleeping. Trust me, you’d rather watch a molting bird.

I write and edit and write more and edit more and mull it all over and eventually post it. I often go in and do more editing (usually for typos). I actually work on my work. But, more to the point, I write about things because I must write about them. I can’t not write about them. I wake up in the night and am haunted by the need to write about them. I go to sleep composing and wake up in the morning with that drive to get cracking at the keyboard.

When I don’t write, I feel my spirit shrinking. I bet you know that feeling. Maybe not about writing, but doing what you do, what you feel driven to do, what you must do.

This guy has insights and ideas about the up-side of blogging: http://www.becomingminimalist.com/15-reasons-i-think-you-should-blog.

I must write, and I must write about what I’m compelled to write about, which today was this. Tomorrow, who knows?

Carry on, friends. Cheerio!