Why Do I Write?

My mother introduced me to Science Fiction, but when I began going to the library every Saturday they only allowed me to check out two books. Thus I discovered my parents’ book collection. All the Sci-fi writers lurked there, Issac Asimov, Arthur Clarke, Ursula LeGuin, Poul Anderson, Ray Bradbury, Phillip K. Dick, and so on and so on.

I devoured these books, and then moved on to Fantasy.
Almost immediately my fertile young imagination began writing my own stories. After all, my parents had limited books on their shelves. If I wanted more to read, I would have to write the books myself.

So began the frustration of my English teachers. After all, neither sci-fi or fantasy have to be based in reality. But teachers would prefer one to write great literature, not fancy shmancy stuff.
Pretty soon, if my head was not buried in a book, I was scratching away with ink-stained fingers, creating my own worlds. I had no idea why I was so driven, until I read a quote by Isaac Asimov.

“I write because I breathe.”