What the F? And Why I write. And Publication.
Why I write. The simple answer is that I can't NOT write. I would write even if I knew I wouldn't be published again.
I told stories to myself all the time when I was a kid. I read voraciously. But the books never went the way I thought they should. Books are excellent, wonderful, and a surprise twist is the best, especially in mystery or suspense. But, I think, I wanted deeper character, or something explored a little more...or what happened in the land to the north?
Other peoples' stories could spark my own. Movies. TV.
And then, of course, I started having people in my head not only before I went to sleep. They'd hang around during the day. Some wonderful thing of inspiration or imagination would make me smile and I'd want to write it down to release the pressure, or keep it forever so I could read it and relive the moment or just smile again.
So I became a writer. And once you begin seriously writing and hook up with other writers, you learn technique (I have the first draft of the first book I finished after I became a serious writer and BEFORE I hooked up with other writers -- yeah, started with a dream; yeah, Point Of View all OVER the place; yeah, not too compelling a story, short on the conflict). And after you hook up with your writer friends you begin to dream of publication, are funnelled down the publication path.
This can be a killer for some people. So don't do it if you're content making up stories for yourself, reading and writing them for others.
As Writer of the Year for Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, I gave away a free critique. The guy just liked to write for himself. He DID send me a chapter or two and I critiqued it...and I told him that if he DIDN'T want to read the critique to throw it away because I pointed out errors in his story, and messed with how he wanted to tell it to make it more compelling to me (and hopefully for others). I never heard from him. I THINK and HOPE he never looked at my critique, because he'd wanted to write his story, shelve it in his own library and have someone discover it and smile after he was dead (he told me this).
And that should be enough.
May your words sing to your own soul today.