"People on the outside think there's something magical about writing, that you go up in the attic at midnight and cast the bones and come down in the morning with a story, but it isn't like that. You sit in back of the typewriter and you work, and that's all there is to it"...Harlan Ellison
Writers write because we can, we need to, we have to. Or, because, why not? When I write, I try and envision what my goal is as I set up my characters and their GMC; Novella, novel, short story or just putting ink to paper and doodling. But, it is what I see that goes down. Not what someone tells me to write.
Example: Write a story about the Botanical Gardens in Arizona.
No. Why not? Because, I've never been to the Botanical Gardens in
Arizona and therefore I can't pretend and frankly, the only words I'd be
able to supply are:"It's probably a very pretty place with lots of colors
Now...talk about writing something regarding fishing as a kid and you get:
Oh, the solitude of being alone? I love when the humidity beads up on my skin, the sun high in a clear blue sky. The smell of dead fish surrounds me as I crouch down with my fishing pole; a hook dangling at the end of the line into the Ozark River, hoping to snag a slimy perch. While a pesky fly buzzes around my head, searching for food and I'll give it to him because I can't stand the rotten taste of perch.
Ain't fishin' fun? Worms make great bait but I prefer minnows. A worm will break in half while you're trying to string them onto the hook but a minnow, well, you just stick that hook right through 'em and off you go. Lickety split and you got your fish.
The theme song of "Mayberry" strolls through my mind. I really do wish I could whistle. Oh, well.