First I wrote because I love to write. Then I wrote to preseve the memory of a 1960s neighborhood that saved my life after my father died. The Widow's son. Next I wrote to challenge myself to better understand a person who may be the opposite of who I am. River Ghosts. (Nom de plume B.R. Robb.) This year I wrote because no one else appeared to write about baby boomer women within an apparently happy marriage and their inherent fears of aging. My Occasional Torment. (Nom de plume Bee Robb) Others have since caused me to write for the stage, adapting My Occasional Torment for the stage.
Asked now by Authors' Den why I write, I go back to the beginning. I love to write. That's a necessity in the tough world of publishing. This means reading great authors of differing genres. Mark Twain, Harper Lee, John Irving, Bailey White (isn't she terrific?), Billy Collins (poetry rocks if you want to write well), Dave Barry (if you haven't read his recent piece on colonoscopies, you're not laughing as much as you otherwise could be laughing right now).
I am motivated to respect readers - to do the research, to edit, edit, edit; to read writers who make my writing better just by reading their books. I am motivated to help other authors gain notice and readings without expecting anything in return. After all, when a reader finishes her book, there is always the next. Besides, other authors know when a fellow author proves sincere, and returns the favor in kind if and when she is able. Bottom line, all the promotion in the world is meaningless unless the book itself succeeds in some important way. That alone creates word of mouth. The content of my books is what I hope will earn deserved word of mouth.
All best regards, Bruce Steinberg
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