Why do you write?
Wait, don’t answer that. Not yet. Let me play psychic. (Don’t try this at home. At least not with the aid of an Ouija board. You might get sucked into the underworld – and I don’t mean the good one where Kate Beckinsale wears leather. Or you could become possessed by demons. Or – yikes – you might be inspired to make a low-budget paranormal horror film that will turn you into a millionaire!)
First, I will place a few of your worst possible answers on the table so I can sweep them into the trash bin.
Because I want to be rich.
Because I want to be famous.
Because I’m a brilliant writer and apparently it’s up to me to stem the tide of crappy novels.
Because everyone else is doing it.
If you’re in this to become rich and famous, um, really? I mean, if that happens because of your writing, terrific. Wear sunglasses at night and snort Beluga caviar for breakfast. But if this is the reason you write ? Um…really?
Are you a brilliant writer? Says who? Okay, let’s assume you are brilliant. If your goal is to make people forget about crappy books, you’ve already failed. There will always be people who love what you refer to as crappy books. And – get this – there will always be people who think your books are crappy.
If you’re writing because everyone else is doing it, may I introduce you to this herd of lemmings and that cliff?
Sweep. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Okay. Now, let’s look at another possible answer.
Because it’s fun. I like writing. It makes me feel good. And it keeps me off the streets. It was either this or a drug habit. You don’t want me doing drugs, do you? DO YOU?
No, of course we don’t want you doing drugs. If writing’s fun for you and that’s all you want out of it, then party with your participles until you’re [adjective] in the [noun] and you can’t [verb] anymore. But if you’re hoping to be published someday, you can’t use this as your primary answer. Sorry. It just won’t do.
I know what you’re thinking so I’ll just go ahead and write the words here:
Because I can’t not write.
[And the crowd goes wild! Except the crowd is wrong.] That’s not an answer. Not a satisfying one, anyway. I know where you’re going with it. You’re comparing writing to breathing. Or a beating heart. Or choosing the slowest possible line in the grocery store. Every. Single. Time.
Writing’s not an autonomic function. It’s not something you can’t not do. It’s a choice.
“Hold on there buddy, boy,” you say. “I don’t agree. I really can’t help myself. I have to write. Something compels me to…”
Ah, stop right there. You said “something compels me.”
“So?”
So dig a little deeper. What is this “something” that compels you? What could possibly be so compelling that you would be willing to give up precious sleep (among other precious things like children and spouses and the latest episode of “Modern Family”) in its pursuit? Want the answer now? Okay. Here:
You want to matter.
You might also know this by other names, such as:
You want to be remembered.
You want to make a difference.
You want to be seen as beautiful. Or worthy. Or smart. Or clever. Or funny.
Is it any wonder why rejection stings so much? Oh, sure, we all buck up and say “I’m okay with rejection because I learn from it.” Yeah. But first it hurts. That’s what makes the learning stick.
So what difference does this make? Who cares why we write? I do. And so should you. Because if you recognize that your writing is more about you than the words on the page, you’ll take it seriously. You’ll give writing the respect it deserves. And you’ll get better at it.
Stephen King wrote, “you must not come lightly to the blank page.”
He’s absolutely right. But not just because words matter.
Because you do, too.
Comments
47 responses to “A Compelling Reason”
nice post, and i learned something – i had no idea you could snort caviar 🙂 Seriously, you woke me up to a few things – i was all smug, thinking, i write cos i HAVE to. Then you got me in the second part and broke apart my smuggery, made me think, and realise that for me, i write because i want to. I like telling stories, i want to tell good ones. I write for myself, but also for others that i hope will one day read and enjoy my work.
Smuggery is now my favorite word.
But, “because I want to matter” and “because I want to be remembered” are just “because I want to be famous” all over again.
Personally, I think all of those reasons, whether shallow or deep, are useful. In my opinion, anything that motivates you to put butt in seat and pound the keys is useful. Finishing a book ain’t easy, so I’ve learned to glom onto anything that feels like motivation or inspiration, and not worry whether it’s only puddle-deep.
But the real reason I’m bothering to comment is to observe that there’s a whole other way this post could have ended, a way I was expecting it to end. So, nice job on the twist ending! Namely:
“Because I have something to say.”
Most people don’t think they do, but everybody has something to say about life, the universe, and everything. Getting them to a) know what it is they want to say, and b) get it down on paper in a coherent, well crafted manner, that’s a whole other kettle of fish.
But everybody has something to say, and at the end of the day that’s why I write. To say something, or to learn what it is that I want to share with the world about the world
At least, that’s what I like to tell myself.
Good thoughts as always. However, I don’t think “I want to matter” and “I want to be remembered” are the same as “I want to be famous.” I see the “famous” thing as more about adulation and public recognition and the other two as more about personal significance: I want to know I matter – but I don’t care if the world knows. That’s my take, anyway.
But you’re absolutely right that everyone has something to say. Especially Douglas Adams. (Moment of silence.)
Amen.
Perfect answer when I am asked, “Why do you write?”
“I write because I like to party with my participles until I’m adjective in the noun and I can’t verb anymore.” Let ’em argue with that.
There is no argument for that answer. Glad I could help.
“Because it’s fun. I like writing. It makes me feel good.”
Hahahaha best joke I’ve heard all day. Show me a writer who thinks it’s fun and I’ll show you … okay, I won’t be rude.
I write because it’s the way my heart beats. I don’t want to matter or be famous or be worthy etc. There are loads of things I’d rather be doing to reach those goals.
I don’t WANT to write. I’d prefer to be a brilliant photographer or something. Writing is hard, painful, blissful, disruptive, too glorious to cope with on an ordinary day. But it is just the way I was made. I have to write, so I worked and worked until I could write sort of decently, so I could keep writing, because if I don’t write I don’t sleep or smile or breathe properly.
Which all sounds romantic and self-deceptive but it is my truth. 🙂
[Previous reply deleted because I sounded more like an arrogant jerk than the kind-hearted, if slightly unbalanced person I really am. No excuses, though. Sometimes I just say foolish things.]
I agree. Writing is excruciatingly difficult.
Your truth sounds all romantic and self-deceptive? You say that like it’s a bad thing.
It’s not.
actually, my comment sounds arrogant AND slightly unbalanced, so does that make us equal? (I reckon it certainly qualifies us as writers!) And I also reckon you’re probably right with your theory.
we can call it even as long as we’re both allowed to remain unbalanced. i like being unbalanced.
and whatever the truth is about why we write, i’m just glad it’s not so simple that we have no reason to wrestle with it. i like the wrestling.
Beautifully said.
Beautifully commented.
because I’m a narcissist and like the sound of my own voice
So you write because you like reminding yourself you already matter more than everyone else. I like it. I could use some of that narcissism. Where is it shelved at Costco? Next to the Nutella?
Lemmings was a GREAT game.
Stupid human trick: blow Beluga caviar through your nose!
I hope one day you make more than cents because you sure write sense.
The day I make enough cents to match the sense I make will be the first day of the rest of my life. I know. That didn’t make sense. See?
I’m actually very insecure, and I write hoping someone will validate what I have to say.
I think lots of writers are in search of validation. Not just of what they have to say, but of who they are. [Raises hand, then suddenly lowers it because no other hands are raised, then considers raising it again. Lather, rinse, repeat.]
Writing is supposed to be fun all the time? Only my muse has fun. She meets up with strangers at bars all night, leaving me waiting and waiting. And worried.
I write because I love to read. The stories out there matter; they ARE more than I am and living the fictive dream when I read makes me feel.
They also inspire me and I hope that my writing matters to someone out there who is happy to come along for the story and maybe will miss it when they reach the last page.
Muse never came home after the weekend. Send her along if you see her.
I think muses sneak away at the most inopportune times just to prove their value to us as writers. Well, that, and because they like to drink and sing karaoke and make up lame #writerfail jokes behind our backs.
I know you’re right. Writers write because they want to matter. But that’s assuming they don’t already matter. And at what point do you know you matter? After your first book? Your second? Does it need to be a critical and commercial success?
To quote the late John Candy from the movie “Cool Runnings”, “If you’re not enough without it, you’re never going to be enough with it.”
…or something like that…
Here’s the surprise (and it’s not really a surprise): we already DO matter. Every one of us. But we don’t always feel like we do. So we write. Or we draw. Or we sing. Or we tell really bad jokes in a really loud voice in a room full of strangers. We want that validation Kristin refers to above.
But you’re asking a slightly different question: When do you know you matter as a writer? The short answer? When you’ve written.
Period.
Of course, being a culture of comparison, we want a better answer than that. We want to quantify our “mattering,” fully aware that even a huge success doesn’t really change our intrinsic value – just others’ perception of it. (And in some cases, our own perception of it – which explains why some successful authors appear to be full of themselves.)
Okay, so let’s quantify it. Let’s put aside the psychological (and spiritual, because it really is a spiritual question, too) and look for a moment at the practical.
Probably the best measure of whether or not you “matter” as a writer (ie: are someone others might consider a success), is if you sell enough copies of your current book to keep publishing houses interested in investing in the next one. According to this measure, as long as you’re getting published, your writing matters. This is true whether your books are consistently on the bestseller list or practically unheard of except to your loyal fans.
Of course, there are exceptions. Here’s one: “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Did Harper Lee’s writing matter less because she published just one novel? Do I even need to ask that question?
In summary: you already matter. You just don’t feel it. So you write. And you seek validation for what you write – because it’s validation of you. And you know you shouldn’t seek validation for yourself this way, so you try to deny the belief that “more sales” means “mattering more.” But you have a hard time denying this because you’re human and broken and you’ve been taught that success is measured in numbers, not intangibles. Is it any wonder why the writer’s life is such an emotional roller coaster?
Okay. That’s enough meandering on this topic for now. I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts five minutes from now. Maybe even contradictory thoughts. But hey, that’s just how I roll.
One last thing, though. It’s another mathematical formula, but I think it’s an important one for writers to consider, no matter how many books they sell:
A writer really only matters to readers one at a time.
Dang, Stephen. I could cut and paste your eloquent reply and call it a guest post. Which I always welcome from you, btw. As for the writer only mattering to the reader one at a time, I suppose you’re right. Mostly.
Feel free to cut and paste my eloquent reply and call it a guest post. And as for that writer mattering bit…see reply to Billy’s comment below.
Make a difference. Yes. That’s why I write. Because I go out every day and see everything and say that someone has to do SOMETHING. My something, of course, is rather small. But it is mine. And hopefully years upon years from now when I’m gone someone walking this way will stumble upon me and say, “Well now, what’s this?”
I love your humility because it’s real. There’s not even a hint of falseness about it. But who’s to say just how small or not anyone’s “something” really is? There are few truths as true (or perhaps as mis-identified as “trite”) as this one: if you make a difference to just one person, it might not seem like much to you, but to that person It could mean everything.
Last time I checked, “everything” was on the opposite side of the scale from “rather small.”
By the way, I’ve read one of your novels, so I can confidently say…you’ve already made a difference to at least one person. I don’t think that means you can retire, though.
While I agree and want all of the things you mentioned–to matter, to make a difference, to seem funny–I also write as a form of therapy. If I’ve had a horrible day as a mother and begin to think I should go back to work full-time and put the kids in the hands of someone more capable, I write. Sometimes I write a silly short story as a means to laugh at myself; other times I write something more serious. Many times I’m writing for me first, and afterwards, I normally feel better. What I’ve noticed, though, is that my means of working through my issues, CAN help someone else. And that gets back to your point about wanting to matter.
I use writing as therapy, too, but I nearly always post what I write online somewhere because the best therapy I can think of is a nod of agreement from someone else. Of course, sometimes my words prompt head-shaking disagreement or simple bewilderment. Those responses aren’t as therapeutic. But they do refill the bucket o’ angst, which then leads to the need for more therapy…and more writing.
I’m going to have a different twist on this question … I write because I’m a serial expert. I’ve spent my life becoming the expert on something and then eventually growing bored of it and moving onto the next puzzle.
When I stumbled, a few years ago, upon an untold story – about the life of a friend – I decided to become the expert in telling her story. So I set about learning to write and i’ve started to draft my novel based on her life story. But along the way I discovered something interesting.
One doesn’t become an “expert” in writing. It’s a constant quest for improvement and the writing process is such that there is no “best.” So, this puzzle is a bit vexing for me. But along the way I also discovered that I have more stories to tell than just my friend’s story and so all of these things are keeping me busy as I continue learning.
I guess I’ll stop writing when I run out of stories to tell, which I don’t envision happening any time soon 😉
One of the reasons I like my job as freelance editor is that every manuscript I work with teaches me to be a better writer. That’s the not-so-secret benefit of working with talented (published and un-published) writers.
I’ve learned that the quest to improve as a writer is an ongoing story in itself – one that (for most writers, anyway) never ends.
In that way, it’s sort of like my work in progress. [Finish your novel, Steve.]
I write my blog because it is cheaper than therapy.
I gave up on behavioral therapy years ago. I got tired of hearing myself talk so I traded it for blogging, too. Well, that and weekly therapeutic massages. Eventually I traded the navel-gazing blog(s) for a short story one. And then I added this one.
I still have a weekly massage. It’s mostly to help with my bad back. And by “bad back” I mean tortured writer’s soul.
I write because I have tales to tell. Some might be tall stories with more than a bit of real life hidden inside and some are just strange dreams and imaginings my brain churns out for no apparent reason other than for me to share them.
Some really fantastic books have got me through some really horrible times in my life. I can lose myself in a good book and ignore reality. I’d like to aim to do that for even just one other person.
I love how you make me think sideways sometimes.
So writing books is sort of like paying it forward. I like that.
And I’m always happy to make people think sideways. I do that all the time. Or it might just be that I do most of my thinking while lying down? Yeah, that’s probably it.
I somehow stumbled onto this blog and realized, hey, wait a minute, Steve Parolini, I know him. Or knew him at one time. Really good work Steve, I never knew you were into fiction writing back in the day at West. Cool.
Anyway, I couldn’t not leave a comment. I don’t run across rich and famous ex-high-school-classmates every day.
I’m no writer but your post was very interesting. It was great seeing your blog.
Jody Riddle
Ah yes, the ol’ small world thing. Good to see you ’round here. I wasn’t as much into writing back in high school as I was into imagining what it would be like to be a writer. I’m still doing that. But with slightly more success. Not enough, however, to be considered rich or famous. Just enough to occasionally poke my head up from a life of contented obscurity.
I write to silence the voices in my head.
I’ve tried that, too. But for every one voice I silence, another five start talking. Maybe I’m doing it wrong.
My thoughts, almost exactly. I write because life doesn’t really matter to me, unless I can turn it in to words on paper. A simple trip to the grocery store can very often be turned into a 600 word, inspirational blog post or article. I love that. I love words. They matter. And I want to matter too, you’re right.
Awesome post. Thanks for sharing.
Words do matter. Thanks for using kind ones in your comment.
Once you silence the voice that’s screaming the loudest, you can hear the others. So instead of a shriek, you get a chorus.
I have written since I was a child. I was disabled and lonely and didn’t like soap operas when I was 9 yrs old (and still don’t). I was home alone, bedridden and turned to the paper and ink. The results were philosophical essays. Starting so young I always considred myself a writer although I hid those essays between the mattress and box spring because I was afraid that they were blasphemous and I would be punished for my thoughts. In college I learned that everything had been written before. I was elated to know I was not alone.
I have written for magazines, mostly interviews with musicians, reviews of concerts, etc. but also a lot of human interest which is what I write now. Frankly, I’m sick of it but they keep giving me money AND I’ve learned that the stories do make a difference to readers–but not because I wrote them.
My goal was to write a novel which would really be my memoir. It occurred to me that it may not interest anyone but me but that’s not a reason not to write it.
As for making a difference in a person’s life many ‘angels’ have made difference in mine and never knew it–like the one in my recent #fridayflash on my blog, a DJ. I have been an angel to others, but not because of my writing.
I just write because I have secrets sometimes and nobody I want to share them with. As fiction they’re no longer secrets and no longer mine. I blog because I have no children, nieces or nephews. They say that once something’s on the Internet it is there forever, so when I’m gone maybe I’ll have left a shadow of myself behind.
Nothing profound, I’m afraid. No interest in fame, fortune, recognition. Actually I’m thinking about spending more time quilting. When the quilt is done, someone really does enjoy it and it may outlive me and get more attention than my blog.
One more thing–I always say that when you ask a writer a question expect the response to be book-length and my first post is an example.
I’m gonna open up saying that I’m one of those anonymous stalker fans who obsessively checks this blog every day for a new post. But not in a creepy way. I do four things when I get on the computer: open current writing project, open gmail, open noveldoctor, and open deviantart. I’ve been doing this for the last two or three months or so, and I’ve yet to be disappointed (by the noveldoctor part at least). Thank you for that.
I just got my first rejection letter yesterday, and I somehow ended up on your blog this evening. Coincidence? Probably not… Your posts are always helpful, always hilarious, and very nicely timed. I just thumbed to a random page (figuratively speaking) and I ended up on this post. I spent most of last night wondering this very question. Alas, the only solid answer I came up with was 42. It was nice to hear that everyone else wonders the same thing.
Also, I adore that Stephen King quote. I have it saved on my flash drive, along with another couple dozen from him, several of yours, three pages of Neil Gaiman’s, and a couple from Douglas Adams, simply because crazy people are the best people, and crazy writers and better even than crazy people.
Keep writing these, and I will definitely keep stalking you.
I’ll keep writing. But you don’t have to check every day. A few times a month should do.
Thanks for all the kind words. I don’t mind being stalked. As long as it’s a nice, friendly sort of stalking.
It started with a recuring dream I had and has evolved into a full-blown trilogy. Still working on the first but I am in no way a ‘pantser’; I adore planning and plotting. There’s an insane amout of referances (obscure and not so much) to things that I like. So I suppose I write just to get the endless ideas out of my head and onto the page… Whether it ever matters to anyone else at this juncture is a moot point. I’ll cross that hurdle when I reach it. Anyways… A great motivator is when my beta-reader told me not to say another word to them until I had [XXX] amount of pages for them to read. I quipped “Hand-written or typed?” Lol
I write because I’ve always wanted to leave something behind. Even when you die, if you’ve published a successful story it will stay around a long time after you’re gone. It’s not that it’s easy, because it’s freaking hard sometimes, it’s that I have an idea and I feel like it’s an idea worth sharing because someone I don’t know, who isn’t biased in anyway, might like it, and remember me for it just like I remember so many other authors.
Thanks for your post; It reassured me that I’m not wasting my time.