As a published but mostly unknown writer, no one is clamoring for my work.
I get zero e-mails asking when my next piece will be coming out.
No tweets begging for content.
Occasionally a friend will hire me for a project, but mostly I'm on the hustle, sending pieces out, filing the rejections, revising and sending them out again.
I sit down in my writing space a few times a week, and work on short stories, blog posts, videos, bits of a memoir and I wonder--yes sometimes I do wonder--
why.
*
It's for myself, broadly. I write to understand.
To noodle through things.
To find some truth.
It's because I have something to say--
that only I can say.
*
Today though, I question--
why.
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