When I first started writing, I was enticed by the idea of making money—not being rich, necessarily, but living off my books and making an amount comparable to a mid-tier salary. Then, as the stories took hold in my mind and I grew out of the need for an outline, I became taken by some inexplicable force. It made a lie out of the supposed boredom that should come from long hours of tending to a keyboard.
So now when I write, I consider it my daily dip into my personal well of mental magic.
Kent Wayne 
Leave a reply to I tripped over a stone. Cancel reply