Thanks to a hum-dinger of a one-liner I read this morning, I have that phrase (or its zinging derivative) stuck in my head ... thanks a lot Bernita! Still, it started up a little thought pattern all its own.
Why do we write?
Is it for love, or money?
Of course it can be for both, but usually there's a driving force behind each individual.
The easy answer is 'I write because I can't not write'. I think it is pretty safe to say that for most of us, that's true. After all, why put ourselves through such torture if it weren't a life's necessity. But ... but ... but ... what drives us to attempt gaining publication: surely a task much more arduous than mere writing. Heck, for the most part, it's a task that begets the mother of all headaches on a daily basis.
There must be a reason we put ourselves through such torture. It can't simply be for the audience. Can it? I mean, if audience is all we truly desire, then hey, the world's our stage--or at least in the ethereal sense of the word. Thanks to the vast reaches of the world wide web, we can reach out and touch just about anyone we want to. (Hum, icky connotation alert there.)
Why is it, that it seems most artists of any type, are afraid ... even ashamed to admit that money would be nice.
We have to eat. We have to pay the same bills as the teacher, lawyer, gardener, and pastry chef has to. We have to survive in a world based on currency. So, hey, money would be nice.
What would be your honest answer to the question: Why do you write?
For me, if you stretch beyond the 'because I have to' idiom, which is true, but I can do that on a piece of scrap paper that I shove in my drawer at night if that's all it was... I'd have to say that it's for the recognition, and fame that might accompany a popular hit ... and in the end, money would be nice.