Why Do I Write?

You haven’t seen me blog as much as I normally do lately other than posting sermons. Writing like a crazy woman some days, I’ve sought to give more attention to my book long project instead of other stuff.

When I come out of my writing cave and seek to tell people what I’ve been up to, the number one thing people say often in a condescending tone of voice is: ”That must be so healing for you” or “Writing is so therapeutic, so good for you.”

And in response, I use self-control to not growl. And I really want to growl.

I realize people mean well. They’re just trying to be supportive. Many can’t imagine writing as honestly as I am trying to do.

But, I want to proclaim writing is not an “all about me” task. It’s not something I do rooted in selfish motives. I’ m not trying to throw up my emotional baggage on the world. I write because I am a writer. I write about painful things sometimes because painful things have happened to me and need to be heard. I write about joy sometimes because happy things happen to me and I want to encourage others. I write because like a painter or a carver or a sculptor, word choice is my art form. I write to practice my art. Sometimes what I produce is good art. Other times it needs to be sent back to the drafting board altogether or thrown in the trash. But it’s still art. And I still must write.

If I wrote for therapy, then I should get a journal or talk to a therapist (I already do both from time to time). These things are less painful. More private. Less drafting and wasted paper.

It’s burdensome task, I believe, putting your honest self out to the world, having no idea how people will respond to a story that isn’t just a story to you. It’s your life, and the only one you’ve got. Writing about your own life, I believe, can be one of the most courageous things people do.

Sure, as they say, writing can mature the soul. In writing, the pain has somewhere to go: to the paper. And, when you have to think about something long enough to find just the right word, you usually walk away with heighten self-awareness (which is never a bad thing). Healing and self-awareness are cousins. It’s true.

But I don’t think most writers, write because of personal sickness (though I’m sure some do, but I’m not friends with these folks). I don’t think writers write so that just anyone can know their less than flattering thoughts or moments. I don’t know think they write just to feel better. Writers write to connect them into what it means to be human.

And this is my point: I write because I don’t know how to not write. So if you stick around, you’ll have more to read in the future. And, this is what I can promise you, the stories to come will be my truth.

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3 Comments to “Why Do I Write?”

  1. So true. I write because it’s the lens through which I see the world and attempt to find my place in it. Writing is simply a part of me, whether in published, polished form, or simply in my journal. It’s my voice. Thanks for such an honest post. I look forward to the privilege of reading your book project.

  2. I think it’s useful to figure out why you write, especially when you are writing about your own life, not writing technical manuals about how to install a microwave oven. For me, writing,about my own experience has enabled me to examine my life objectively. Through the process of examination and exploration, I am able to become detached from the emotion and to see it as an observer. I love being able to write about something that I experienced 50 years ago or five minutes ago and seeing it in a new light. It sometimes amazes me that I begin to write about something and remember a detail I thought was forever gone from my memory. And I love it when I get insight into the meaning of an event, of a conversation from many years ago, and realize how it has influenced my life. All of these vignettes, all of these things become like an impressionist painting, little dabs of color. I just need to get them on paper and step back to see the full picture. Then it acquires meaning, something uniquely my own, and I see the truth. You’ll keep doing it because you have to and the meaning will come spilling out, you’ll create your own impressionistic painting. Keep going!

  3. For some of us, writing is like the fire in Ezekiel’s bones that left him no choice but to preach. Write away, Elizabeth, and worry not what others think your motives might be!

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