Why I Do What I Do

I began to write at the tender age of four.
Hour upon hour, I'd sit and write short stories and poetry. Hundreds of stories would manifest themselves without trying. And, they were good, too. So much so, that I knew exactly what I wanted to be when adulthood arrived--a professional writer.
That's a great story, right? I dare say romantic, if only it was true. IT ISN'T.
Truth be known, I wanted to be a movie director. (Thank you, George Lucas.) That's right. I had the urge to interpret stories and direct people to act as characters.
Needless to say, I never pursued the magical medium of filmmaking...didn't have the drive or calling, I reckon. Yet, one thing remained with me throughout my life: I've always seen stories visually, and they've always continued to flood my consciousness, daily. Dozens of them volley back and forth of both my left and right brain as if they were vying for the championship spot of a Wimbledon match until I relent and write them down.
As a result, I wrote my debut novel, Olivia's Dream. A sentimental piece written to cope with the death of my maternal grandmother. I published that thing having only two drafts, no editor, and no beta readers, (something I now look back on sorrowfully and in disbelief.) Olivia's Dream didn't sell a single copy, and just when I was about to chalk-up my writing career as a "no-hit wonder," a funny thing happened. A friend read a few passages and liked what they read. I WAS ELATED. For the first time since picking up a pen, I had connected with another person by the simple use of words. Which brings me back to the title of this post: why I do what I do. The good answer would be that writing brings me fulfillment. That I would write even when no one reads it, but the truth is far more substantial. I write in hopes of not only entertaining, but also to connect with YOU, the reader. And maybe, just maybe, we'll come to understand each other.