Why I Write

Once I met a man who though he loved novels, he mistrusted them. He said he believed in reality. He didn\u27t want his attention to stray from reality. But it did. He was a compulsive reader. Making things up is what human beings do. We are story-making creatures, though we make these stories in different ways. We fantasize, we create different plots for ourselves out of randomness. Writing is the way I have chosen of making stories. I know if I didn\u27t write, things might get dangerous. An event takes a particular shape, but I am aware of other shapes it could have taken. There was a time when I couldn\u27t distinguish between them. Now I channel invention into novels. Why I write