Why I Write
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I write. I wrote my first story when I was about 11, but I had been telling stories for a lot longer. I used to love making up stories when I was a kid. My cousin and I even made up our own play when I was about 10 and we made our brothers act it out. It was a lot of fun.
When I was about 13, I wrote my first book. I worked really hard on it. It took me almost a year to write. My parents suggested I try to get it published (though I doubt that it was good enough), so I began transferring it onto a computer since it was hand-written. When I was about half way done my brother’s friend stole one of my notebooks containing a large chunk of my untyped story. At that point I gave up.
I wrote more short stories after that, but never managed to write more than a few hundred words. I never thought that I would be an author. When I went to university, I went into history. Now I’m working towards a history/philosophy double major. I never stopped writing, but I didn’t think that I would go anywhere with it. Now my partner has convinced me otherwise. My goal is to be published by the time I’m 26. That gives me a little less than a year. I’m near the end of my university career and I would like to be able to go straight into a writing career.
Now I want to write as my career, but that was never why I write. I suppose I have always simply written for my own pleasure. I draw for the same reason. Getting a career with it is really just more of a bonus.