I want a lot of things. Most of them are fly by night suggestions born in the belly of my television shows or in my belly itself. These wantings never rise to the level of controlling my life independently, but as a collective they swarm over my cognitive reasoning leaving behind a life that is filled with trips to Firehouse subs, video games bought at day 1 prices, and online streaming subscriptions I use about as rarely as a windshield wiper in the desert.
Wantings can coat your life and hold you down, preventing exposure to any deeper desires that ought to make you a better, more focused person. Cravings, on the other hand, are what define us.
A craving is a deep seeded desire–a yearning that goes beyond immediate fixing but demands immediate and prolonged attention. It is an urge, a thirst not satisfied by a sip but by the complete consumption of that which you crave. There was a time in my childhood where I craved athletic success. I put a weight bench in my room and worked out daily. I tried to eat anything and everything that would stick to my ribs. I ran constantly in an effort to get faster. My mind was focused on fulfilling this desire.
Later, when my athletic career was over, I worked out from time to time–especially when it got close to a rec season or to some specific event I wanted to beast. The difference remains the level of the desire.
I believe this philosophy applies to writing. There are writers who love the word and will lose themselves in the creation of a story. There are writers who crave it. They become embedded in the word like a battle that must be fought and won, suffering in the moments they are away from the page.
I spent some time as that kind of writer and a lot more time as the other kind. As I move forward in my writing career, I miss the craving and am anxious for the next story that calls it forth again.