Why I write

A few days ago, The Orange-Obsessed Hildred Billings wrote a touching blog entry about why she writes.  My story isn't nearly so touching.

I come from a long line of liars, bullshitters, and raconteurs, so I've always been interested in story-telling.  There's an episode of The Simpsons where Bleeding Gums Murphy tells Lisa that music is like a fire in your belly that spews out your mouth and you'd best put an instrument in front of it.  That's kind of how story-telling is with me.

It wasn't always writing, however.  For most of my life up until the end of my first marginally successful stint in college, drawing was my preferred method.  I drew a lot of comics and things of that nature.  Then I worked as a graphic designer for six months or so and haven't drawn very much since.  I came to realize that while I was good, I wasn't good enough to make a living with it.

I don't remember when I decided to take up writing as the way to get my stories out of my head but it took a little while to take hold.  I don't think I finished much of anything until I was 25 and the first novel-length work I wrote took about a year and a half to write, finishing when I was 29.  I wrote a few 30,000 word novellas and fragments after that.  Then came NaNoWriMo and my three year win streak, and here we are.