My mother pulled out her mash-up Deepak Chopra when I told her I was really, seriously (for reals now) a writer. She mentioned, in order of no importance, following your dreams, being true to yourself and how Mrs. Garluski (psychic, Basking Ridge, NJ) told her I'd be a writer one day. Mom may have also mentioned past lives and the karmic wheel, not sure as I'd glazed over by then.
But what she didn't ask was, why do you want to be a writer? Sometimes I think if I sell something, making just enough for a years supply of botox, well then, that's success. I've never had botox but I think about it. Am I a botox type person? The late thirties are an absolute bitch on my face.
I think I write because I don't actually believe I can be a writer and I'm trying to prove myself wrong. That's the twisty way I work, a double, triple fake out. Yes, someone married me, miracle.
So, why do you write?
As the above-mentioned miracle, I write largely to spread my miraculousness across the land. You're welcome everybody!
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