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Have you ever asked yourself this question:
Why do I write?
More importantly, have you ever attempted to answer it?
If you’ve been around me long enough, you know I am a huge proponent of taking the time to get super clear on why you write and turning your answer into a overarching mission/value statement to keep you on a steady writing path.
Writing is lonely work. And it often lacks validation. How often do you talk to others about a story draft you’re writing? Conversely, how often do you question the worth of your writing, whether your writing is any good, whether anyone will care to read it?
This is where your “Why I Write” statement comes in.
When you take the time to get clear on why you write and why writing is such a necessary and important part of your life, you are setting yourself up for future confidence and courage as you move forward in your writing goals. A “Why I Write” statement keeps you grounded and sure in the writing projects you pursue.
Let me explain.
The first time I posed this question to myself – “Why do you write?” – my heart started beating a little harder. That’s because I had SO MANY answers – answers that were fuzzy and vague at first. I write to make a difference. I write because I have something to say. I write to figure out what I think about something.
Blah blah blah.
I realized I felt daunted by the question because, while I had many answers, none of my answers were crystal clear from the get-go. It doesn’t really work to use the statement, “I write because I have something to say” as a guide for your writing endeavors.
We all have something to say.
So what made my drive to write important, specifically?
It took some digging. It took some messy brainstorming and word-dumping on the page.
But as I leaned into the question and started to go deeper with my answers, a clearer mission started to emerge. I not only began to realize more clearly why I write; I began to see how a mission statement around my writing could be a rudder for my creative pursuits. I could hold up any story idea/ambition I had to that mission, and if the idea fit with my mission, I had permission from myself to pursue it. If it did not fit with my mission, I did not pursue it.
For example, through exploring the “why I write” question, I realized more clearly how important the creative nonfiction genre is to me and how writing in other genres does not excite me. This helped me to narrow my writing focus to creative nonfiction. I also knew through experience (a lot of messy first drafts) that writing was often a safe and creative way for me to explore how I fit within a larger story or how I really felt about a particular event or person.
As I continued to explore the question, I also realized how important it was to acknowledge the messiness of the process and to get comfortable with creative chaos. The creative process is like a wild animal sometimes; it takes over and you can either try to tighten the reins and control it or let it lead.
In the end, my “Why I Write” statement ended up being about 800 words. In it, I admitted the fact that writing is scary and I often feel vulnerable on the page. I latched on to comforting words of David Bayles and Ted Orland, in their book, Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking.
“Art is like beginning a sentence before you know its ending. The risks are obvious: you may never get to the end of the sentence … or having gotten there, you may not have said anything.”
In the process of writing my “Why I Write” statement, I realized that I often write to come to terms with something. The “Why I Write” statement is itself a coming to terms with the question. I allowed my struggle to be clear. I admitted that it’s hard. I admitted that the creative process is chaotic.
Somehow, getting that out felt like a sort of permission. It’s okay that it’s hard. It’s okay that we don’t have all the answers right from the get-go.
As it turns out, scores of writers have answered this question in their own rite, in their own “Why I Write” manifestos.
George Orwell believed that writing was part of his true nature. He couldn’t help but write. The real question became what to write and why. He found himself writing politically motivated novels because it connected his drive to write with a larger sense of purpose. Otherwise, his writing felt lifeless.
You might be like Stephen King, who writes “for the pure joy of the thing.” (His book, On Writing, is a must-read for any writer, in my opinion!)
Clearly, there are as many answers to “Why I Write” as there are people who take a stab at the question. Coming up with your own answer can seem futile. It can feel pointless as you grasp for words and attempt to put coherent, meaningful thoughts on the page.
But if you stick with it, I think you’ll find that establishing a solid answer will give you a greater sense of purpose as a writer. It can fuel motivation like it did for George Orwell, or it can offer a sense of clarity like it did for Joan Didion. Allow yourself the space to explore why you write, and you begin to develop a road map, a mission statement for your writing as a whole.
If you’re ready to pursue your own “Why I Write” statement and you would like some support, feel free to check out my Writing Craft Talk on it here. You’ll come away with your own “Why I Write” piece – and you’ll have an opportunity to seek feedback on it if you wish.
When you can confidently assert what makes you a writer and boldly state why you write, the words and the ideas you put out there will have a clearer sense of direction. And you can move forward in your creative pursuits with confidence, knowing you have a darn good reason for why you do what you do.
