Why I Write

A week or so ago, I had one ofthosedays. The kind of day that started when my special-needs daughter wet the bed so I had extra laundry to process. Meanwhile I was buried under a mountain of asbestos depositions for my day job and could write my next story in the dust on the bookshelves. Not to mention the normal juggling of home and family activities and feeling like I was falling further and further behind with no hope in sight.

All I wanted was a long nap. Or a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Or a g...