This is being republished from a forum I visited:
Many times I have returned to writing thinking: “I can do that thing I just read/watched/played better.” But over time, I’ve come to realize that my vanity masks deeper concerns.
As an atheist and a cynic with a comfortable existence, I see pervasive dullness and depression in the world around me. A vast landscape of grays build upon a foundation of compromise.
I write to rebel against a world I don’t want to belong in. Where passionate people shape the world for the better instead of being marginalized or using their influence to drag us deeper into the pits.
As a result, my stories are always about people rising above mediocrity — rising above even their own limits — to ascend to greater glories, in the hopes their actions create a wave of change that can be rode by all those who follow.
I guess in short: I write to inspire.
(… and I’d like to be able to support myself financially doing so.)
Tomorrow I may have another reason in my pocket for why I do what I do, but for today, just right now, I want to be honest. My cynicism is a poison that has corrupted my worldview and I find it hard to look beyond it anymore. Other peoples dreams are so saccharine to me that I almost find it impossible to believe we’ll ever pull ourselves up above our situations.
I’m fairly certain that I’m wrong about that. But knowing something and believing it are two totally different things.