Why I Write

For school, I was tasked for reading a great many number of essays on a singular topic: “Why I Write”. These readings included “Why I Write” by George Orwell, “Why I Write” by Joan Didion, “Why I Write” by Terry Williams, “Why Write” by Paul Austers, “Why I Write” by Reginald Shepherd. Turns out, writers are very concerned about tackling this question and rightly so. Burn-out is a common term used in writing spaces and for good reason. It besets you quickly when you least expect it. Why? Who knows, the answer is rarely the same from person to person. Then there is the whole conundrum of “how so I get out of this head space?”. Turns out, defining your motivations and why you do this whole writing schtick is one good way to get out of this swirling mental blackhole. And so, I created my own “Why I Write” constitution/statement of my own. While this was indeed a school assignment, I still would love to share it. This exercise was unexpectedly cathartic and I definitely recommend you give it a shot if you ever find yourself in a flurry of self doubt and find yourself asking, “Why am I doing this again?”.

I’ve included the video version (created by yours truly) and the essay itself in case you don’t feel like watching my mini-movie filmed on a my old-as-dirt ipad (edited with imovie of course). I won’t be (that) offended, I promise.

The Video:

The Essay:

Why I Write

By Brooke Freeman

I write for a great many number of reasons as do most people I think. Strangely enough, I made a list back in middle school of this very thing. At the tender age of 12, I found that sometimes I didn’t want to work on my story. And so, I made a master list of writing motivation. I dug it up for this question and have been pleasantly surprised that the reasons still very much ring true.

I’m going to share this list with you now in its true form, complete with the starry 2014 bulleted points I had copy-and-pasted from the internet because I could never figure out how to make special characters myself. I will also elaborate on how each reason is true to me to this very day. It’s nice to know that, if anything, I’m consistent.

★ The feeling of reaching that plot twist

As a kid, I posted to a lot of kid targeted writing chat boards. These boards have long since shut down but in this little internet space, I found an audience. Other kids, like me, who loved writing and loved reading. From early on, I found the joy of writing something unexpected and the reaction of those who read it. Even now, this is a process I still find myself taking joy in. Really it’s the community created in such moments that I find myself coming back to.

★Getting to write that scene.

The scene that pictured in all it’s glory. Perhaps the very scene that got me writing the story in the first place to write up to. My chance to drop that one-liner that my young self thought was oh-so-clever. And yet I still do this now. A dynamic captures my fancy. A scene springs to life vividly in my head and I need to write it. And then I build the world around it.

★Improving your writing ability

Improvement is a strange thing. I never felt like I was improving until I figured out that it often takes the form of reading one’s past work and cringing. This is something that is even more accurate now that I’m in college as I find myself cringing a lot at whatever work I pumped out in high school. And yet I don’t hate it. You don’t hate a time capsule because it’s old and outdated. You marvel at it and all the trinkets inside. And then you think about how much has changed, most of it for the better.

★Making your thoughts more cohesive.

That feeling of seeing a project come together is unmatched. I tasted it as a middle-schooler and thought “wow, that’s pretty neat to see how it ties together”. But as life has gotten messier and my thoughts and brain even more so, I think this reason has become more and more prevalent for me.

★Holding your published book in your hands.

I want to hold my words in printed form. Not that that gives them any more importance, but I am drawn to the physical space that words can take up when they’re printed. They’re beautiful as well as accessible.

★The aesthetic of the writing life is impeccable. Drink some tea, type away on a rainy day- indulge in it.

Pompous and shallow as it may sound, writing feels important while you’re doing it. It feels whimsical and sometimes even mysterious. It’s easy to romanticize. Not that you should believe yourself any better than those around you but there should be a certain amount of joy you should take in your writing work. I write because I love doing it. I indulge in it.

★Hearing from other people who have been touched by your work.

And here we are back at community. It has been a big driving force for me as I continue onward on my writing journey. From 12 years old to present, I loved the connection I got from my work. I had no promise back then that my writing would make it big or make an enormous, uncompromising difference. But maybe it did to a fellow 12-year-old browsing a writing message board. It did for me after all.

But I don’t think it’s sufficient to leave it here. Yes, these reasons are still accurate but they are no longer the full extent as to why I write. I think it would be an indicator of lack of growth within the last 10 years to no add to this list by quite a margin.

I am finding in my 20’s that I write because I love. I can end the sentence there as cliché as I’m sure it sounds. But I won’t.

I write because I love so many things. I love peeling oranges on my front apartment steps. Write because I love petting cats that never belong to me but begrudgingly accepts my affection. I love rain, birds, cathedrals, breakfast, coffee, stars, journals that are empty, journals that are filled, cattle on grass, autumn, pancakes, skeletons, tacos, photos, brown eyes, blue eyes, my mother, my sisters, my brother, and my father. I write because I love.

And finally, I write because God has been kind enough (or cruel enough), to put words in inside of me. Then he allowed me to be fed on a steady diet of books. All kinds of books too. Apologia Science textbooks, The Magic Treehouse books, Narnia, Little house on the prairie, Nacy Drew, The Magic Thief, Lord of the Rings, Calvin and Hobbes just to name a few really important ones. I was fed until I was swollen with words and ideas. Then I was handed a pen and paper-or should I say a laptop with a slow internet connection, a pinball game, and a writing program. Then later a typewriter marked down to $50 at a thrift store. Then an actual laptop. Now it’s a Journal. Paper cradled in Leather.

I write because I am overwhelmed by everything it feels like. Some mornings I feel it more deeply than others. And when I do, I crack open my journal or open up my delipidated laptop. And then I write.