I don't know why I write.

I like it I suppose. I only have selfish reasons for the reason I write.

It makes me happy.

It makes me happy to pretend it makes you happy.

It makes me happy by pretending it makes you happy because it fluffs up my pride.

I like words and flow. I like to trickle them torturously, while I wait to hear demands for me to finish.

I love my characters, all the crazies.

Yep, I hang my head with shame. That's me, the selfish writer.

But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate.

I appreciate other writers, each and every one because all your works teach me something more.

I appreciate readers, who spend time and effort to read my work. It means a lot.

I appreciate reviews. Reviewers help improve my work to no end. You mean even more. But I love readers and reviewers both.

I appreciate my supporters, if there are any, for fluffing up my pride and making me happy.

I appreciate the poor individuals I harass to help flesh out my ideas. You're great friends, I'm surprised you're friends with me at all.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. For reading.

I mean, this isn't even an original profile, I bet. But thanks.

Also feel free to visit my blog, http:/// ^^