Why Do I Write?

I've tackled this question on Vocal before, but this time I’m diving in deeper. Before we get rolling, why not check out my interview about writing? It’ll give you some good background!

I get it—links can feel like a hassle. But since Mike Singleton tossed this question my way and I’m answering him, I’d be remiss not to share his take on it, too. So, if you haven’t already checked him out, go ahead and subscribe. Trust me, he’s worth it!

Why I Write

Why do I write? Man, every time someone asks me that, I get this weird knot in my stomach. It’s like a one-way ticket back to my childhood, and trust me, no one’s signing up for that trip—especially not me. What’s funny, though? I ask myself the same thing every time I’m stuck, staring at the blank page.

For years, my go-to answer has been, “Because I had no choice.” And yeah, that’s kind of true. But it’s not the whole story. It's somewhere in the middle—a little bit of truth, a little bit of something else, and for the longest time, it made me squirm.

When it all started, writing was survival. Locked away in my room, grounded for six months (illegal now, thank God), it was just me and my toys. Growing up around film sets, I’d make my own little “movies” with LEGO and Playmobil, crafting these tiny worlds to escape mine. Eventually, I started writing those stories down. It was a lifeline, something to keep the loneliness at bay.

After my “grounding sentence” was over, I started writing lyrics for my band. Occasionally, I’d try short stories, but lyrics? They were my thing. Over the years, writing became my way of giving my dreams a home, my way out of a life that felt suffocating. But then, I got ambitious. I wanted more than just lyrics—I wanted to be a bestselling author. I figured poetry wasn’t going to pay the bills.

The Downfall and Its Solution

I sent my stories to publishers and got rejection after rejection. That stung. But instead of giving up, it fired me up. I wanted to prove them wrong.

Then came the fall. It was 2001. I’d moved out of my adoptive parents’ house, stayed with my biological dad, then my mom, and finally got my own place in Hamburg. But with that independence came financial struggles, and on top of that, writer's block. My dreams of being the next Stephen King? Slipping away fast.

That’s when I stumbled upon porn magazines looking for short stories. Desperate, I thought, "Why not?" I wrote one, sent it in, and bam—they published it. I cranked out dozens of them, making decent money. Writer's block? Not a problem when I was writing porn. It was both satisfying and soul-crushing. Here I was, writing stories that would horrify my family, but man, it felt like a step down from my real aspirations.

After about a hundred of those stories, I burned out. They were all the same: a flimsy plot that led straight to the sex. I couldn’t do it anymore. By then, my band was falling apart, and I had no interest in writing lyrics either. My dream was dead, or so I thought.

The New Beginning

Then, I met Jean. He changed everything. I wanted to write something for him, and just like that, my writer’s block started to crack. Slowly, words began to flow again. I found this German platform for hobby writers, and that reignited my passion. It wasn’t long before I got a few stories published, and that feeling of success gave me a new purpose. Suddenly, I wasn’t just writing for myself—I was writing for readers, for the joy of entertaining them.

But more than that, I wanted to be better. I started experimenting with words, pushing myself to develop my own style. And when the world started falling apart—climate disasters, Nazis making a comeback—I knew I had to do more than entertain. I had to say something. As authors, we have a responsibility to speak for those who can’t. Writing became my way of standing up, of teaching and inspiring through my stories.

Now? I love where I’m at. I write what I love, and every new book quiets those lingering doubts in the back of my mind. I’ve spent my life juggling different careers, living different lives, but now, through writing, I’m finally bringing it all together. The future? I hope it’s filled with stories until the day I take my last breath.

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