Why I write:
- I write because a trained monkey could do my job, not a NASA, piloting rocket monkey, but an average run on of the mill, poo-flinging in the zoo monkey. I loved my job once but it is a faded lover. Until I find a new one, I wake to the doldrums of 9-5 because I have to bow down to necessity.
- I write because there is a dull little ache in me that grows stronger with each breath. It can only be eased by spilling my blood. Words on paper.
- I write because immortality lives in ink.
- And (last though not least) I write because I once screamed “I am alone,” and was proven wrong by books. I hear the screaming of the masses. They want to know someone cares, someone feels that way, that they are not alone. I need desperately to reassure them of this.
You are not alone.
That is why I write.
Why do you?