Why I (Still) Write

I once wrote for money. I wrote for the high. I wrote for ego, for a shot at the great big wheel of fame. I wrote because that meant I got to tell the lawyers and salesmen of my acquaintance that I was a writer. I wrote because people who are smarter than me told me I was pretty good at it. I wrote to get out of real work. (Since rewriting is real work, sometimes I wrote to get out of rewriting.) 

Editor, smiling

I wrote for an editor’s smile. I wrote because people would say “I read what you wrote.” I wrote because sometimes people would say “I wish I was a writer.” I wrote because words matter. Because they’re there, and their spelling and correct usage was important. 

I wrote because it got my unpretty face on television. I wrote for television because I got more money for fewer words, my handsome children got educated, and my beautiful wife and family had shelter and food provided by a husband who wrote. 

I wrote when my hand got farther from the outrider horses of the merry-go-round and I could no longer reach the brass ring dispenser. I wrote when I felt my limitations were permanent, my future finite, my most dream-worthy goals unreachable. I wrote when I felt the slippage. I wrote as a pitcher might continue to pitch when a late-in-life sinker arrived in time to replace his heat. (For me, that was Google, the answer to a lazy-researcher’s prayer.) 

And now I still write when there is no money to be made, there is no need to write, there is that big number next to my name that declares to the world that I need toil no more. I write now that the easy chair is an entitlement, the pressure is off, the race is mostly run, the readers moved on, the fresh streams of talent in place. 

I write now because…because…because…because ... dammit... I still love to write.

(This was originally written for the blog, http://jacklimpert.com.  Jack, 40 years editor of  The Washingtonian Magazine--that's him above, smiling--gave me my first big break as a writer and deserves much of the credit for my success. He was kind enough to add these words.) 

"John Corcoran got published by the Washingtonian because he could write funny—about one in 100 writers, sometimes it seemed like one in 1,000, could consistently write funny. He then got paid well by television stations in Washington, Boston, and Los Angeles because they also thought he had that gift. I think he wrote because he loved to make people smile."