Writing is a strange beast. Sometimes it comes so easily. The words flow.  The story pours perfectly onto the page. It feels like magic. Other times it’s a gruelling slog. And it changes from day to day. One day I am enthusiastic about it, powering through page after page, absolutely in love with what I’m producing. The next I struggle to put three words on paper. I’ve had a fair share of both recently as  I’ve been trying to hit a deadline, and it’s been making me think about what exactly keeps me writing, even when it’s tough.

Sometimes it’s purely because I love the story. Something about the idea captivates me and won’t let me put it away, no matter how bad the draft is currently, or how much work it needs to turn it into something that even remotely resembles a book. I love the idea I’m trying to convey. I love the story I’m telling. And I can’t let it gather dust in a corner.

Sometimes it’s because I can see where it’s going, what it can become. Even in the depths of the most intense edits, sometimes I’ll get a glimpse of what the book can be, what I can make of it, how good it could get if I keep working. Catching that flash of brilliance is a reminder of what I could achieve if I keep pushing through.

Sometimes it’s simply because I enjoy the act of writing. There’s something so calming, so powerful about pouring out thousands of words on a page and seeing them line up into something I could potentially share with other people. Good words, bad words, they’re all magical, and the feeling of writing them is amazing.

And sometimes, it’s all about being stubborn. I don’t feel the love for the story. I can’t see the progress. I don’t love writing that day. But I won’t give up, because I know that one bad day doesn’t mean that I’m not meant to be a writer, that I should down tools and leave. Because when it comes down to it, writing is an amazing thing. Bad day or good, I am a writer