Why do you write?

Someone asked me this the other day. Short answer: Can’t not. And I’ve tried. But there was never a time when I wasn’t telling stories, framing stories, saving fodder for stories and or trying bits on the nearest susceptible subject. It is a compulsion. There’s nothing glamorous or laudable about it. Luckily there are enough good writers out there, past and present, to make it an acceptable compulsion. Otherwise, we’d have a show on Discovery. People would tune it every week to watch to the sad schmucks who can’t stop stringing words together. Poor, poor storytellers. It’s actually not a bad idea for a show, really. I mean, it’s got to be better than people with too many parakeets.