Why We Write

Hi Y’all!

In a moment I’m going to start to tackle a topic that I imagine we will revisit often. But first—Thank you SO MUCH for subscribing! I have been amazed, delighted and blown away by the enthusiasm for this space. I’m so excited, in fact, that I want to post multiple times per day. I’m not going to do that because I don’t want any of us to get overwhelmed. Speaking of which, I am feeling overwhelmed in the best sense re: all of the shared writing and great comments here. I’m striving to keep up with it all and will do my best to acknowledge and respond to as many comments as I can.

I like Rachael’s suggestion about maybe posting twice each week—one writing prompt and one post that’s more of a discussion about writing. I think I’ll give that format a whirl. I’d love to include a Q&A component—if you have questions about any aspect of writing from process to publication, hit me up please.

And now, onto today’s topic: WHY do we write?

For many years I had a simple answer to that question. I wrote because I felt I couldn’t not write. I started writing when I was eight. The first ten years were wonderful because I didn’t aspire to be published, not in any concrete way. Once I started getting published at nineteen, I began to put pressure on myself to continue to get published. I loved seeing my byline but sometimes this self-imposed pressure caused me to lose sight of the joy of process and instead hustle to score assignments.

Fast forward another 41 years. So many factors—from getting older to the changes brought to publishing courtesy of the internet—have left me far more confused about why I write. I mentioned earlier that I’m working on a novel. When I am solely focused on the writing it’s mostly fun. When I start asking myself what is my point—Do I have a profound message to share? Am I still longing for the ever elusive spot on a bestseller list? Am I hoping for financial rewards? Will anyone even care?— this can suck the joy right out of my writing experience. I strive to shut down the doubtful inner critic and keep writing because writing is what I do, it’s a part of me.

The other day I was reading the obituary of Wayne Kramer. Admittedly I was not familiar with his work but I was interested in the obituary because firstly, I love obituaries. Also, I’m a music fanatic and Wayne was in a band MC5 which, though I did not follow them, apparently had an influence on other bands I love. For instance The Clash mentions Wayne in a song.

Specifically, the song refers to Wayne’s run-in with the law. He served some time in prison on drug charges. When he got out he started Jail Guitar Doors to bring music—instruments, songwriting workshops—to the incarcerated. Which brings us to the quote at the top of this post, which was featured in his NYT obituary.

It struck me that I could easily swap out “writing” for “guitar” in that quote. This realization brought with it an immediate sense of relief. It was a reminder to me of why I started writing in the first place—even if I didn’t realize this reason when I began. I lived in the prison of a violent childhood. Reading was my very first addiction and, to date, the least unhealthy of a long list of addictions I would go on to enmesh myself in. Writing came quickly on the heels of reading.

If I thought at all about the connection between reading and writing I’m sure those thoughts were far more aspirational than analytical. I wanted to be an author! But I see now something far more important was at play when I picked up my number 2 pencil and scrawled upon the pages of the steno pads I favored as a young scribe. Part of my childhood imprisonment involved being raised by a mentally ill bully who insisted that his nine children maintain complete silence in his presence. You did not speak unless spoken to and on the rare occasions you were spoken to it was to be informed of what a hopeless loser and bound-for-hell sinner you were.

Though I was forbidden to speak aloud at home, putting my voice on the page was an excellent outlet. It is what allowed me to have any voice at all. Later, upon becoming published, I discovered that with writing I could experience validation, connection, empathy and lots of other things that I had lacked as a kid.

Reading Wayne’s quote I was also reminded of how often I have used writing as a personal healing tool, a way to sort shit out, a place to exorcise my darkest thoughts, a way to force myself to see the facts of, say, an abusive relationship, as I conducted inventories that revealed truths on the page, truths I had grown masterful at denying until I wrote them down.

I figure I’ll continue to have mixed feelings about writing, particularly for public consumption and most especially if/when I try again to really put my writing out there on a large scale again. But when it comes to journaling, letter writing and, yes, this new space where I know I am safe to share and think “out loud” on the page, I remember that these are the forms of writing that keeps that prison cell unlocked.

Your turn. Do you know why you write? Let’s hear it.

I’ll pop in again in a few days with another writing prompt.

NOTES:

If you’re in the Austin area, my next six-week memoir writing workshop for women starts on 2/27. It’s $150. We meet at the ranch Tuesdays 11 am - 1 pm. Email me if you want to sign up.

I’m putting a paywall up here in a couple of weeks. Subscriptions are $8 per month or $80 per year. I will sometimes send out writing prompts to all subscribers, paid and unpaid. If you want to be a part of this party and not miss out on any of it, I encourage you to subscribe. I also encourage you to unsubscribe for any stretches you won’t be able to participate. Jump in and out as it suits you.

Please help me get the word out by sharing this with anyone you think will benefit from being part of this awesome conversation.

Thanks!

Love,

Spike