and Blogs about**THE BAHAMAS**NEW YORK**and whatever moves her to***WRITE***
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Bennett Cerf, eminent publisher, punster, writer and television game show panelist once said: “Coleridge was a drug addict. Poe was an alcoholic. Marlowe was killed by a man whom he was treacherously trying to stab. Pope took money to keep a woman's name out of a satire, then wrote a piece so that she could still be recognized, anyhow. Chatterton killed himself. Byron was accused of incest. Do you still want to be a writer - and if so, why?”
I too wonder - why do I write? Guaranteed, it’s not because I treasure the long and random hours, the necessary isolation from all, or the piercing neck and back aches that are my eventual rewards. It's hardly because I'm - at times - an insomniac and I require something to do at odd hours; I could read, watch television or breed the sheep and pigs on Farmville, instead. If it were daytime, I might even venture outdoors to enjoy the sun’s vitamin D rays or actually accomplish a few tasks on my growing “To-Do” list.
No. I write because I am a writer and although I continue to ponder why I write, I intuitively know that I will.
Had I been included in Bennett Cerf’s quote, it might have read: "Lash-Sands was an insomniac and was hardly at peace until she wrote."