I was having a conversation with my mother whose 64th birthday is tomorrow. It started with her telling me that she'd listened to the story and wondered whether there was more. I told her that it was a very abbreviated part of a longer story in the book. She asked when she could read it, and I told her that she could read it when it was published.
This means that she must play the one card she has in her hand. "Well, I thought that you might let your mother read it...." We went back and forth about my ambivalence about people reading my work, and it ended with her saying "Then why do you do it?"
I have no answer for that. I don't know why. Questions like that make me want to stop, though.