It could be the money. It could be the prestige. It could be the praise that gives you the warm feeling from head to toe, and keeps your head high all day. It could be the intellectual desire to explore characters and situations. It could just be to relieve the boredom. Or you just read a bad book, and know you can do better.
But secretly, in our hearts, we know those all are all other reasons. The real reason is that feeling.
You write and slog and plough your way through a story – then you hit that moment, and suddenly it flows. You write faster, your heart beating, your breath catching in your throat. The story comes alive before your eyes, and you can hardly believe what you’re reading, that this is coming out of your mind, your pen. In that moment of utter perfection, you fly.
Praise is good. It warms you. But that feeling of creating something is different. It’s sharper, darker, deeper. It’s better than drugs, better then exercise, better than anything else. It’s addictive, and wonderful and invigorating and so rare – but it happens.
And that’s the reason why.