Why do I keep getting up at 5 am to write? Why do I imagine that the way I shape these sentences matters to anyone but me? So what if my writing is published? Hell, I’m the publisher! So what if a handful of people say they like what I write? A handful of people like the worst shows on television, the worst rhyming verse, elevator music, Brussels sprouts. Besides, I’m not doing it for the applause, and I’m not doing it for the money. I could say that, for me, writing is like praying to a God I’m not sure I believe in. Or maybe to a God who’s not sure he believes in me. But that’s ok. I don’t need to have my prayers answered. I just need to kneel here, scribbling away.