Well...I'll give you one of two.
Though not unusual for me on face, I was shocked when I pulled my latest library loaner out of my bag on the way home from work today. I say this isn't unusual because (a) it's me, and (b) time to read is one of few public transit advantages, so I do read and write on Metro pretty frequently. Anyway, this was surprising today because I've been up since 4am as the result of a disturbing dream followed by insomnia.
While I'm sure you're dying to hear about the dream, a writer's sleep issues will have to be the subject of an upcoming post because I'd rather share what I read today:
"...remember, above all else, that your novel is not a self-improvement campaign. Your novel is a spastic, jubilant hoe-down set to your favorite music, a thirty-day visit to a candy store where everything is free and nothing is fattening. When thinking about possible inclusions for your novel, always grab the guilty pleasures over the bran flakes. Write your joy, and good things will follow." (p. 88)
Okay, I'll admit it it: I'm reading a book about writing a book. Mock me if you want, but if you want to know more about a subject, what do you do? Read. I want to write, so I'm reading.
My point is this: my writing is love. I write about what I love. I write about who I love. When they say to write about what you know, I'm writing about love because I love my life, even with all its shortcomings. I write because I love it. When it really comes down to it, writing is probably a big part of what makes me neurotic, but I even love that. So yes, even when it's a spastic guilty pleasure that makes my imagination run amuck and my real life go awry (more on that and The Chapter that Changed My Life later, too)...I love it.
So that's it, really. I write as an outlet, yes, but also because I love it. As a result, a lot of heart does go into it...both for better and worse. It's for that reason that I truly appreciate those of you who have voiced an appreciation for my inane spasticity and keep coming back for more.