-lost in my own sick little writer’s fantasy land

Sometimes we don’t know why we write. For some of us, we never know. Most of us understand that we have to write, it doesn’t seem to be voluntary. If we stray too far from the keyboard or notepad, our lives change–we change. There is little to be done about this. It’s something we have to live with. It’s something we are. Beyond that, most of us have articulate reasons for wanting to write–for wanting to create.
Many writers look at their work as a legacy–something left behind long after the creator is gone. This is perhaps the most common reason for the desire to be published. By having our work validated by another, someone who appreciated it enough to actually print it–and even pay us for it, we get our ego satiated and we confirm our “writer” status. We all need encouragement–publication is the ultimate encouragement.
Many of us write to create something that we cannot locate elsewhere. We know what we want to read. We know what we have a need to vicariously experience. We know how the story could have been done right. We just can’t find the right combination in anyone else’s work. We then create it ourselves, for our own use and to fulfill our own needs. If that can be shared with others of like mind, so much the better, but that was not the primary reason for the work’s creation. We needed to read it and no one else was writing it.
This brings us to the edge of what I believe is the one most important reason to write, what I believe is the reason that we writers exist–creation. We have a need to create. We need to bring life to that which would not otherwise exist. It is an awesome power.
With the stroke of a pen, Kevin turns from a pious monk to a blood sucking demon. With the swish of a mouse, Ann never existed. With a press of the “Delete” key, Carla follows Ann into Limbo. With a “Control-Alt-F7”, Tom and Jim are resurrected from the dead. With just a little more effort, just a few moments in front of the typewriter, a new continent appears. A few strokes at the keyboard and the Theory of Relativity is disproved, replaced by the Writer’s Theorem. No where else can we effect such change. Nowhere else can we make good all that is wrong or ruin all that is right, depending only on our mood for guidance.
Here we are not in the playground of the gods, here we are God. Here we are no longer bound by limitations, regardless of their validity. We can’t lose our jobs, the boss might just have a heart attack, taxes can’t go up and our family can stay stable and whole–whatever we want–it is ours.
What we create could not have been, save for us. What we create will never truly be lost, unless we will it so. This is strong temptation indeed. Is it any wonder that nearly everyone wants to write? They have found it is much easier to want to write or plan to write then to do it. We have found that it is not easy to write. That is what a writer is and what a writer is not. We have found that it is, truly, easier to talk about writing or plan writing or wish to write. We have also discovered that the effort is worth it. The effort is repaid a hundred-fold. When we discovered that, we became writers. I’m proud to be part of that elite group.
Am I way off here–lost in my own sick little writer’s fantasy land.