“Why do I write?” is not an easy question to answer, because I think there are probably many answers; one purely pragmatic answer is it’s how I make my living. It’s my job and I’m very fortunate to be able to make a living doing what I love. I think the people who are least lucky in this world are the ones who have to go off to a job that bores them and that they hate, simply in order to support themselves or a family. But I think even were that not true, if I were married to Donald Trump, oh God forbid, that’s a terrible thing to speculate about. If I had a rich husband or something and did not have to make a living, I would write anyway.
Because for me the most important thing is just the amazing satisfaction one gets, somebody like me gets, just by arranging words on a page and then rearranging them so that they flow differently, better or clearer or say better what you want to say and then to go back and look at them and read them and change them again a little bit. I could just do that all day long. In fact, I do that all day long, everyday.
