Why I Write

I was reading Miss Snark's blog on agents -- I highly suggest it, even though she's retiring it, it's got great "snarkives." And one of the posters in the comments posted this bit from Dylan Thomas. I like his stuff, but this one just struck me. Writers should heed this when we write and write for us and because we can not do anything but write. I don't write to publish otherwise I would have finished more stuff and actually query my work. I write because I have to get the voices out. I have to give them breath and life and growth. I write because I have to.

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labor by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art. --Dylan Thomas


Why do you write?