Why is There Air?

The question is always this: why write?

The only answer I can come up with for myself is this: because of Carl Kolchak, a.k.a The Night Stalker (not as in serial killer Richard Ramirez). The TV show was a favorite amongst myself and my friends. I guess the guy with the frazzled straw hat, 20 dollar linen suit and ragged sneakers was a role model for us - one of them anyway. When you're a twelve year old kid you have a lot to choose from: your parents, your teachers, your siblings, friends, etc. So how screwed up do you have to be to have Carl Kolchak as one? 

Better him then any of the Corleone family, right?

So you're in your own little world, the rest of of it locked out, creating, writing away; the scenes of adventure, terror, love, heartbreak. Then all of a sudden you're supposed to break away from that and share your creation with people. Escapism on one hand, then go back to the fold of reality on the other. It's a hard thing - unless you're an extrovert, which I'm not.

Here's the deal: I do it for the adventure, not fame or fortune. Much in the same way Carl Kolchak carried out his one man crusade against vampires, werewolves, and sewer dwelling creatures with visible zippers on their backs.