When I read a really touching story written by a friend of mine and then I walk into Barnes right after and look at the hundreds of thousands of books lined up beautiful on the shelves, that something inside of me that tells me I want to be a writer swells so big it aches. It's a desire so big it threatens to eat me up whole, this thing that is larger than me, like true love but not. It's this moment that makes me want to drop everything -- everything -- just to start writing, about anything, anybody, anywhere, just write until that intense yearning stops. People sometimes ask me why I want to be a writer, and I just can't explain, but it all boils down to moments like these, this feeling that says I can't not, that says I will alwaysalwaysalways feel this way. that says that this kind of thing is like one-in-a-million, like love lost, like going out to sea. I can't explain it, I really can't, it's just that I read these things and then I see all the books, and I think, I want to do that too, but it's not just that I want to, I have to, like even if I die trying, I have to. I don't do it for the fame or even the name on the spine -- I do it because of that feeling. That feeling that I want to make someone feel what I'm feeling. That feeling that I can never possibly be a whole person if I don't keep trying, die trying, try to make it. I know perhaps it sounds foolish, given the odds of the industry, but it's shit like this, little moments like these, that push me to never forget. To push me to remember why I started this process anyway. I want to be a writer so badly, my heart aches. So badly I can taste it. So badly.
And if one writer's words can do this to me... well, why in the fuck can't I do it to somebody else?