And the related question, Why?

Not the easy, self-loathing, adolescent why? but the why? of the artist who knows only too well when she is telling the truth in her work and when she is lying, however beautifully or with what technical finesse. Why go there, why put myself through that? Wasn't it painful enough the first few times around? The contempt one has, early on, for the "made" writers who phone it in while happily