I write for the same reason I breathe - because if I didn't, I would die.
Since she had been but a young girl, she had wanted to be a writer. She had talent in in composition, a wider vocabulary, a vivid imagination, and a fascination with people. The only thing she really didn't have was staying power. She would write one chapter, or five, or ten, or seventy pages, but she would never be able to bring the story to an end. Her inspiration would lag, her muses would abandon her, and all she would have left was depression because of another failure.
One day, the writer met a puppy who happily stayed by her side. The puppy was small, covered in chocolate colored fur, and had floppy ears that she loved to have scratched behind. That puppy introduced her to something she'd never heard of before, something called... fan-fiction.
Fan-fiction brought a revolution to the writer's comfortable habits. It's one thing to call yourself a writer, to write copiously but secretively and never show your work to a soul. It takes guts, heart, and nerve to place your work out where others can see it, read it, and comment.
So the writer was swept away in the flood of comments and reviews. Her work wasn't perfect --the earliest pieces would never have a place on the New York Times Bestsellers List, but it was received well, liked, and complimented.
Encouragement from strangers around the world kept the writer churning out new stories and new ideas.