We writers don’t write for the money.
We write because we have this need to write. Because there are voices in our heads that need to come out, to come out on the page, to work through things, to find out ‘what if’ and ‘and then what happened?’
We write because writing is necessary, like breathing. We get a physical urge to write. We write because we must. We must to go on, to cope with the day to day, to cope with the big stuff that happens. What if this happened? What if that? We write because we cannot do otherwise.
If we wrote for money, the hourly rate resulting from the calculation of the hundreds of hours of labor that go into a novel divided by the small amount of money (if any) we receive for our efforts would be an amount much smaller than one cent.
We write because this urge overwhelms us and we stop resisting. We follow it.
We must write.
And when others ask with their smug smiles when we’ll be published, or when we’ll be on the best seller lists, we respond with smiles that not all needs are obvious.
We write because life is better for it.