Here’s a rule that’s true in the universe: There’s always somebody—and yes, I’m talking about you—who has “just one more question.” And that question is typically, “Why?”
From the dawn of time, it’s generally been unacceptable to punch in the mouth the guy or girl who asks “why?” That means you can win every argument if you can just keep asking “why?” This question is a never-ending demand that will overpower logic, yelling, accusations, and even plain ol’ common sense. That’s why you’ll win: The other person has no choice but to give up or resort to violence—in which case, you should shout “why?” over your shoulder while you’re running away.
There’s more than one way to win an argument.
I get asked why a lot. I have all my life. From that first “Why are you hitting yourself?”—a question that would’ve been easy to answer if she stopped beating me with my own fists—to the most recent, “Why do you think everything is about you?” The answer to that one is really simply—“Isn’t everything about me? And if it isn’t, shouldn’t it be?”
But I digress. Why do I digress? Because I like tangents. They’re much more interesting than answering stupid questions. And if you’re one of those people that has been misled and believes there are no stupid questions, think again and read this.
But I digress from my digression.
The point here is that since you can’t say why to me repeatedly—mostly because by the time you read this, I’ll have moved on and will no longer care—I will take a few moments to answer a few of my favorite “why?” questions. Ready or not …
Q: Why are you like this?
A: I’m not actually. Why do you think I am?
Note: If you are my girlfriend or my agent, the answers to the above question are: “I’m sorry.” And “Let me look. But I could swear I hit send.”
Q: Why would you write an entire blog about why?
A: Why not? Moving on.
Q: I hear you like dogs. Why don’t you write books about dogs?
A: Fair question. And I have two very important reasons why I won’t. First, most dog owners do not give their dogs a book allowance. Second, and possibly more important, dogs can’t read. (Though Kirsten Bakis might try to fight me on that one.)
Q: Why do you write young adult books?
A: So young adults can read them, obviously. I mean, how can they read my books if I don’t write them first? You haven’t really thought this through have you? I mean, seriously, if they try to read them and I haven’t written them, all the young adults—and a lot of their friends and family members—would just be standing around, empty handed, like Oliver Twist asking “Please, sir,” for more porridge.
And nothing would get done. Is that the kind of world you want to live in?
Can you think of a better reason why?