Why do I write?

I doubt any author can be so specific as to name the precise time they chose to commit themselves to writing. No profound spiritual moment when some literary ray of sunshine struck them and burned away any impure doubts regarding their resolve to take up the epic quest of beguiling the world with their words. That moment itself could make for an absorbing anecdote worthy of some lavish prose. But unfortunately, the decision most likely wasn’t that definite and any honest retelling could be little more than anticlimactic.

That’s not to say there aren’t any romantic foundations in committing oneself to the craft. What else could sustain the long hours of insecurity as to whether one has the moral right, the endless vacillations as to whether each sentence is too this or too that, even the occasional need to justify to others how you’re spending your time? Plus, the optics of writing might look leisurely and therefore idle; at home, sitting comfortably at the desk, coffee cup at hand, soft ambient music to set the mood. But that scene filters out the not infrequent bouts of exasperation and loathing in trying to come up with something that’s worth anyone else’s time.

It's hard to generalize as to where all authors find all their muses to lift them above the grind of it. But one thing I can say with confidence is that..

writers, almost invariably being insatiable readers, could hardly partition their longings from the ways the books they devoured have intoxicated them.

The novelist Stendhal said, “A good book is an event in my life,” and it’s these ‘events’ people experience that undoubtedly trigger the first rumblings of wanting to move others in the same way. 

And there’s no other way the authors could do this to someone than through their writing. No other recourse by which to create the momentous shifts in perspectives on life than being granted the time and patience of their readers. No way. Not a chance. How else could they?

That’s because reading is an act of solitude, whether or not one is in a distant proximity to anyone else.

Given that in social interactions we’re usually quite limited as to what’s acceptable in the ways we express ourselves, reading makes it the perfect situation for one to be heard thoroughly, for another to listen deeply; The intimate thoughts, the crazy characters and worlds dreamt up, the feelings believed to be unique and therefore freakish.

It's understandable that people don’t speak this way in public. If someone were to ask me who I am, it would, and pretty much should, be considered madness to launch into a Proustian reverie about the nature of identity and how it will forever fluctuate under the constant influence of memory, etc. Yes, there are good reasons for these social standards. 

But reading a book, a thing that is being held in sole possession, whose value can only be appreciated with full concentration, makes for an ideal circumstance for a profound relationship between writer and reader.

So, to answer the question I asked in the title, these are the reasons to write—

to speak to people in ways you wouldn’t anywhere else.

Once a person decides to read your stuff, you have their attention and permission to unload all the intricacies and extremes all our heads are full of. Indeed, that’s what they’re expecting of you. 

Do you write too? I’d love to hear what started your journey.