Why I Write
One of those rare times when I talk about writing in this space.
I was talking to a friend yesterday, and he said that he writes (and plays music, but that’s another matter entirely) in order to communicate his feelings to an audience. It’s a rather beautiful reason.
Unfortunately, that’s not really why I write.
I thought about it at length, and realized that I write so that I could tell lies.
I’ve never had a girlfriend, let alone strange, deviant ones. I’ve never been in space, piloted giant robots, become a [trap] magical girl, and just many other fantastical things. It’s an ever-growing pile of scenarios and characters in my head.
I often, no, always ask myself what it’s like to experience all of these. And my answers are what I’ve been writing here. I make stuff up, and I pour my love and care into making them convincing.
They are all lies, in the sense that they never happened.
They are all lies, but they are all true.