Why? Er...

I wish I could say that I write for any remotely altruistic reason, but it's all selfish.

First and foremost, it's plain old fun. (Most of the time.) Since I'm happy to be a fiction writer, much of my time and imagination is spent trying to make the impossible sound believable - to myself and to my reader (which is why your input was so valuable last week, Lori). My husband likes Legos. Aeryn likes to draw. I like to scribble, because I get to think up strange and scary and sometimes wonderful things and make them happen in my own head.

The second reason is that I get to learn. Since I've started this project (and since I've been thinking about the next few), I've delved into odd and fascinating areas - psychological therapy, aikido, the study of angels and demonology (and oh dear God the awful movies I have subjected myself to in the name of research), New York City geography and history, dying, Catholic liturgy, book restoration... and that's only the beginning, I'm sure. Writing gives me an excuse to read voraciously, to Google incessantly, and to get my mind back to where it was so many years ago - open wide, like a baby's mouth waiting for mama's milk.

One last reason: I have a compulsion to communicate. Get me talking and I won't stop. If I'm stoned and caffeinated, you might as well put the phone down and go take a shit, because I'll still be talking when you get back, even though I will have changed the subject at least eight times. Get me writing about something that I love, and I won't stop until my forehead falls down and I start drooling on the keyboard, no matter how early I have to get up the next morning.

Nope, can't lie about it. All selfish reasons. But I do it anyway, because I have to be selfish about something. And this is it.

~Andi