"Why?" he asked.
"Why do this? Why spend hours writing the same 50, 100, 150 words over and over, tweaking this word or that 20 times, drinking coffee at midnight because you have to get this right for the sun to rise in the morning, the entire world relies on these words working themselves into their destined place, by your hand?!"
He needed to tell them because he needed to tell himself.
"Because you have to? No, you don't! You could watch TV and go to sleep at a normal hour and spend time with your family and friends like a regular, happy person! You don't have to do this.
"'Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television,'" he quoted. None of the millennials in the crowd knew the reference.
"You do it because at that moment when you're putting the words on the page, manipulating language according to your will, pushing towards perfection... at that moment there is nothing else but your craft. You are at equals with the greats. You are a classical sculptor with a chisel, the romantic with his paints, the composer with her concerto. You are the master of the universe!"
"You have the power!" He smiled and laughed on the inside. No one got that one either.