While it is not a prerequisite for a writer, insanity saves a lot of explanation about our obsessive behavior and our reasons for persisting. The fact that we live so much of our lives in imaginary worlds then passes without comment. It is just a symptom of our condition. We become objects of pity rather than ridicule. Who else would be expected to labor tirelessly for rewards that are calculated in fractions of a cent per hour and paid at such infrequent intervals.
I've decided to embrace insanity and not seek a cure (psychiatrists are too expensive for the likes of me). It will take away my compulsion to explain to others why I persist and leave me so much more time for writing. I can imagine our version of Bedlam, where credulous visitors are led past dingy cells containing writers and encouraged to throw half eaten apples for our sustenance. I might even qualify for a cell close to the entrance and be allowed occasional glimpses of the outside world.