Reason to write

Home from vacation and looking forward to working sixty hours in the next six days… not! There are many reasons why people attempt to, or actually do, write a book. Some are for purely egotistical reasons: money, fame, the adulation of pretty girls and boys. Some people write books because they feel they have a story to tell the world, whether it’s fiction or non-fiction. Some people write stories purely for the joy, and care little if no one else but family members ever read their words. And some people write books because it’s all they know and envision themselves ever doing. Since birth, this last sect of writers have a constant, never-ending, burning, drive inside that compels them to put their observations and imaginations to the page. These are writers who don’t care about the perks of authorsdom (artistic license here) and must compose stories everyday, like a junkie needing to blast heroin into a greedy, suckling vein. That is the category of writer that I fall into (not the junkie part). Fame, fortune, none of it matters… or so I thought. Getting on that plane yesterday and leaving Miami to return up north and go back to work changed my perspective a bit. I’m still the compulsive, reclusive, prolific author, and I can still do without the fame and adulation, but I gotta tell ya, the fortune and being on endless vacation would be nice. Give a peak at my list of books. Thanks for your support.