“You must write every single day of your life… You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads… may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.” ~ Ray Bradbury
I have always believed writing chooses you, rather than the other way around.
You are either compelled to write, or not.
No sane person would willingly choose the loneliness, rejection, crippling self doubt and relative poverty that are part and parcel of the writing life. The rewards must come from the creative act itself, from having made sense out of chaos if even for a fleeting moment.
Given that you absolutely cannot help yourself — that you must write to feel alive — you simply go about setting down one word after another after another every single day, while battling your inner demons and that pesky inner editor.