I read a blog post the other day by a well-known writer of the creative process who said he doesn’t know why anyone would want to write books anymore, because writing a blog post reaches tons of people instantly and once it’s posted, it’s done. It’s out there in the world.
The reason I write books is because it gives me a container to wallow in what I love and explore the outer reaches of it. The book gives me my own world, a place to figure something out and put new thoughts together. And it’s my container–I can do anything I want with it. I can come up with my own rules; there’s no one to tell me how to do it. I can put it together any way I like.
I love that writing a book is a process of going deeper and deeper into something that fascinates me …not a half-hour quickie at my desk. I love that after I’ve come up with a topic, I can wander down the street of some artsy or funky or interesting neighborhood somewhere, and new ideas for it coming pouring in.
Writing a book gives me an opportunity to dive deeply into my creative musings, building my own world of whatever I choose to be inspired by.
And I love not knowing how it’s going to turn out. I only know that it will.