Writers are eternally fascinated with just about everything—hence, our role as observers, commentators, and storytellers. Perhaps then it’s no surprise we spend a fair amount of time pondering—for better and worse—ourselves.

One reoccurring question on writing lists is why one writes. It seems to me that people write for the same reasons they read: to learn, to imagine, and to escape.

It’s not uncommon to hear a published author say they’re not writing for the money—though women tend to say so far more than men and I strongly urge all of them to keep such altruistic thoughts far from their contract negotiations.

That said, I write to lose myself in story, to find myself in story, to better understand the world. I write because writing is my shelter, my guiding light, that which beckons to my strengths and demands they become stronger.

I write because, like life, writing is filled with uncertainty—both in terms of the process and the product. Writing makes me more alive. When I ache or soar in the midst of crafting a story, it is in every way like being in love.

I submit my writing for publication because the best thing to do with love is to share it.