Why write?

Writing is a salve for the abrasions of daily living. I’m a fan of journalling. I find it helpful in even the haphazard way I approach the process, but journaling is a private affair. If I’m writing for my personal edification, what, I ask myself, is the point of making it public?

Many a writer has expressed this idea - Stephen King put it simply, “Write to find out what you think”. Writing your thoughts is a miracle of transmutation - something ephemeral coalesces into a tangible thing and the results are consistently surprising, which is odd considering they came from “you” and it was “you” who wrote them. That the result can surprise you is a weird alchemy of spirit.

And so, let me attempt to answer my own question.

When I journal, it's loose and private - not meant for others. Much of it isn't even legible. Bullet points, sentence fragments, I am a fan of drawing boxes around words, connecting things with arrows. The distance between those beginnings and a cohesive piece of writing is massive, and it’s the work of closing that distance that is the most exploratory and revealing. This would be reason number one to publish - to force me to do that work. But there are other reasons too…

Thoughts swirl around my skull untethered and some refuse to leave - often badgering me for years. Writing them down is an exorcism. Most go quietly but some need a more rigorous going over, more air, a public flogging. All writing is personal - at its roots everything is autobiographical - and that certainly applies here. Putting any writing out into the world requires courage. Overcoming the fear of being vulnerable is a good reason.

It is a necessary element of writing that you must develop the ego to believe you have something worth saying. This is not a reason to publish, but an obstacle to overcome.

I find tremendously helpful to remember: nobody cares. In this era anyone can instantly publish their thoughts from the device in their pocket - many clamouring for attention, likes, followers. The difficulty of being heard above that din is comforting - you can hide in plain sight. And despite the ego required, it's not wholly unlikely that I might write something that helps someone else understand their life, and that’s a nice thought.

I used to write a blog. That reminds me of a joke by the late great Mitch Hedberg - “I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to, too.” I had an audience at one time for these ramblings, but let it all die on the vine, and so I’m starting from zero again. If you read this far, I appreciate you. If you sign up I’ll occasionally send you a piece of writing - one of those thoughts that needed a public flogging.

Cheers!
~Dirk