I find that I tell stories because I love it. I mean, sure that’s simple enough but what you need to understand is how deep that runs.

Stories take precedence over:

* Food
* Sleep
* Friends
* My own well being, often enough
* Common sense
* Just about everything there is

I tend to say “stories” instead of “writing” more and more because lord knows writing isn’t the only way to tell a story. I don’t care how I tell them, what medium I use – prose, script, speech, mime, it’s all story.

Could I stop telling them? To a large extent the answer is yes. I know, deep down, that I don’t write because I have to. I’ve stopped in the past, for long stretches of years, and like any other addiction it starts with periods of insanity and settles to normalcy after a while. So no, I don’t write, I don’t tell stories, because I have to. I do it because I love to. I love to more than anything else I’ve found.

I love the feeling in my brain when a new idea blossoms and I get to play with something brand new, shaping it and willing it into being simply because I damn well said so. Something out of nothing appeals to me on a fundamental level.

I love the act of hammering a story into shape, though I may grumble when I’m deep in the trenches. Ignore that grumbling. I’m having the time of my life.

I love reading over things, hearing stories, telling them, finding them, talking about them. Every inch of the process is candy to me.

I hope each of you has something you love this much – whatever it is. And that you all get to indulge in it from time to time.