I am rarely at 100 percent when I write

and many would-be writers say,

“I have to wait for the muse,”

or

“I have to wait for a good night’s sleep,”

or

“I have to wait for peace and quiet,”

but the muse never comes,

and sleep is a dream that never arrives,

and the neighbors are doing something obscene next-door (loudly).

I write better

when

I don’t believe I can

when

I’m too tired

to string

two thoughts together.

I write better

when

I’m uncomfortable

when

the future is uncertain

when

everything I’ve written-down

before

doesn’t matter.

I write better

when

there is no applause but my own

when

I’m not trying to impress anyone

but myself.

I write better

when

my critics want to kill me

and I offend

again

and

again.

I write better

when

I know

that my words are a weapon—they have power—lethality.

I write better

when

I am sick as a dog

and it feels like the cats are scratching my skull.

All I want to do is tell the truth

again

and

again.

I write better because I can

and to take that away

is to steal my soul.

In a world where everyone is phony

I find fiction to be more real (and yes, I understand the irony).

I write

to be better than…

(not better than you)

but better than

the hordes of humanity

who think they want to hear

the hum-drum

of

everyday existence.

I write

to breathe

and to be a breath of fresh air.

I write

because it’s the only thing

standing between me

and the rest of humanity.

Writing has a life of its own

and it’s the good life.