Writing is one of those strange things that change with age. And the answer to why I write is a constant work in progress. In a sense, the definition will become simpler and simpler. Eventually, it’ll just end up being: I like it that’s why.

When I read some of my older pieces, I recognized a kind of childish seriousness. It sounded like I was trying to prove something. It also sounded like I was trying to sound really smart and profound. Putting all those things together, I sounded like an ass.

Whereas for now, I don’t really care to write anything that’s serious. I just want to tell stories and I love telling stories. I stood in the line of a Hungry Jack’s and wrote up F.U. Burger. I went on an interesting date and wrote up There’s Another Me Out There and I hated high school so I turned everyone into brainwashed zombies in L’Académie.

There’s this quote I read somewhere by Bertrand Russel that summed things up quite nicely:

“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.”

It makes perfect sense because if people truly believe their writing is urgent, profound, or important, they’ll get so worked up and go nuts before committing a sentence to the page, let alone a good story that’ll connect with people.

I don’t want any more nervous breakdowns so I write just to tell stories that will make me think and laugh. And maybe you’ll jump on the wagon and enjoy all that thinking and laughing with me.