Real life sucks. I write to put myself back on that hillside in French Lick. Back when I was younger and times were easier. We lose to just lose again. Every road I have tried to go down was either filled with pot holes or been completely washed out. I would prefer to be back on that path in the woods between Plumb Street and Highway 46. Yet here I am almost finished with that manuscript, I may have to write another just to keep revisiting it. You just dont decide to just start writing one day. EITHER you have it or you dont. There is no real way to teach someone the true passion. The love of the craft is born with you or it just doesn’t happen. If you try to write for the love of money and not the craft you are writing for the wrong reason.