I could say that I enjoy writing, that I find it a pleasant and fulfilling way of passing the time, but such a statement would be a fallacy, an absolute perversion of the truth.
Writing stresses me out. Whenever I complete a piece, then I am in a bad mood for days, waspish, unpleasant. But I still churn out 4000 words a day, regardless of prior commitments.
Why? Writing, for me is a necessary function, like breathing. If I stopped, I would die.
I am driven to write, so write I will.
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