Sherri Smith
Why do I write? Well for the money of course! When I received my first advance, I dumped the entire $72.50 on my bed and just rolled around in it, while blasting Coolio’s Money. However, I think, before I was corrupted by wealth, my drive to write came from a much more organic place.
I grew up in a relentlessly crowded household and competition for space was fierce. The only space I could consistently rely on was made available by books and whatever stories I could think up. The more elaborate, the better transported I was.
From there, writing just became a bad habit. I journaled everywhere, all of the time. Like writing out my thoughts was the necessary long equation to get to the answer of how I really felt about something. It seemed natural to then take those godawful feelings and attribute them to made up people so I didn’t have to admit to having them.
Now, I write because it’s just what I do. Mostly for the money.