I mean really, why?
It takes forever to get to the good parts. You have to deal with either writing when you’re not feeling inspired or feeling guilty because you’re not writing. Even when you do write, it often isn’t what you hoped it would be when you envisioned the scene in your head.
And then there’s the re-writing, and the editing. And the re-re-writing, and the re-re-re-writing, and you get the picture. Finally, when you think it’s good, not perfect, but good at any rate, and you send it to someone to get their thoughts on your dearly beloved masterpiece.
They hate it. Well, not really. But along with the (you hope) sincere encouragement meant to keep you from quitting writing forever, comes with a heap of criticisms that, surely, a writer as good as you should be immune to.
But then you realize they were right. That was a terrible sentence. Your writing doesn’t make any sense. And plotwise, oh goodness how are you going to keep the reader’s attention when your characters aren’t doing anything?
And don’t even get me started on trying to get published.
So. Why do we do it?
Because after all the freaking out, the sobbing, the ice cream and chocolate, the existential crisis (if I’m not a writer who am I? Why did my english teacher ever tell me I was good at this?) After all that, you tentatively return to your work, and your characters turn to you and say “hi, I missed you.” And somehow it’s all worth it.