Why (do I) Write?

Reflections of the tool for communication, making meeting, and creative expression from Beth Kempton's Winter Writing Sanctuary Workshop

I have stacks and stacks and stacks of unpublished stories - both written and photographs - and I have often wondered what it will take for me to get through them. Of these, there are many that I’ve started to turn into something I might publish, only to stop halfway. I leave them to come back to, but the next exciting adventures peeks its head around the corner.

This, after many nomadic years of promising to myself: once I finally get grounded in a home, I’ll catch up on everything. But still, life beckons. And besides - over a decade of playing catch-up takes some time.

This avoidance of completion has felt like a glitch in my system, something that I have felt endlessly frustrated with. Then again, living such a rich life is one of the better problems to have.

There may be other variables at play, and to step into the stance of a non-judgmental observer may do me well - allowing creativity to flourish in ways that I hinder when I stay attached to a desired outcome.

This observer had her opportunity as I stepped into Beth Kempton’s Winter Writing Sanctuary. Despite the intention being to get to the day’s exercise, on Day One I found myself stuck after only a couple of minutes into the lesson’s video. And thus unfolded multiple pages in answer to her thought prompt, “Why do you write?” It was an invitation to take a couple of minutes to explore within yourself, and instead it became my focus. I still haven’t finished the lesson video.

So, let’s dive in to this little detour.

Photo captured by Brandon in an Oregonian blizzard, 2023

Why do I write? Why do humans write? Why do you write?

I have always loved writing. Within the world of artistic mediums, it was my first love. Before drawing or photography, I wrote.

There is the tangible, felt experience.

I love the process of turning a blank page into something with substance. The hand translates the mind, thoughts, and feelings. How interesting that the thoughts travel all the way from your head, through your neck to your shoulder, down your arm, across your wrist, and finally through your fingers - transferring to a pen and down even further where ink merges into paper. And it doesn’t stop there - back up to the head we go, observing the written word with our eyes to complete the circle to the brain. At some point, our heart will likely be involved, too. Ah, fascinating.

There is the experience of emotional processing.

I have always enjoyed freeform journaling. It’s liberating to lift the heaviness of thoughts out of the head and onto paper. Like caged animals, they are liberated from their confinement where they tend to grow restless. When my writing takes this focus, I feel a heaviness float away from my shoulders.

There is the guidance of prompts to stimulate creative expression.

As much as I enjoy freeform writing, sometimes I find it helpful to have writing prompts to guide my stream of consciousness. Because all too often, there’s simply too much. Life in the physical world is in itself a daily adventure. Add in the internal world of reflection and emotional responses, and phew! I could write endlessly and still have more to say. Until, that is, the body becomes the restless one in the relationship. Because to write means to spend an ample amount of time in the real world - one part active meditation, mixed with one part social interaction.

Growing up, writing prompts took the form of creative essay assignments in school (which I loved, and simultaneously made me weird). Equal was my love for the handful of international penpals I had. These were initially coordinated through school, and when it seemed no more and I was old enough, I sought my own penpals on a website called Interpals. I loved sharing details of my life with a stranger across the world, and the mutual exchange of cultural experiences.

When I began to travel, I met many of the people in person with whom I’d originally exchanged letters with - some in France and others in Italy, though the first was a trip to Australia at 17. At the time, it felt like a weird thing to have long-distance friends on the internet - but now that has become much more of the norm. Prior to the remote working explosion, instagram, or travel influencers, my “normal” was establishing connections across the world with the intention to someday meet in person. This was supported by other platforms like Trusted House Sitters, WorkAway, and connection apps. I was driven by a thirst for cultural depth that I didn’t see in my home country, and a deep distaste for blind patriotism - leading to a decade and a half pursuing life on another continent.

All of my love for writing in different ways continues to this day. As does my love for connecting with people strewn across the world.

For as much as the internet can be a problem, and one that I consistently complain about, it has been a useful communication tool for me. It has connected me with people across the world, and since 2012 it has supported me in building businesses across countries - with remote clients from the moment I registered my first LLC. I wouldn’t be here without the internet, I wouldn’t have had 99% of my clients, and I wouldn’t have the majority of my most cherished friends.

As a writer, it’s created platforms where I can express myself in the way that comes most naturally to me: the written word. My public speaking has certainly improved over the years, but it will never match the ease and eloquence I channel through a pen. People can bash the online world as much as they want - and there is significant reason to! - but it has given me the possibility to communicate and reach people in ways I would never be able to in person. Without it, I would resemble something of a hermit and…. give out handwritten notes in group social circles? Delightful.

As an introvert living in an extrovert’s world, the online world has connected me with people and resources who have helped me to feel a little more understood and comfortable in my own skin.

As an executive-level life coach, it connects me with people who want more from life - and are driven to figure out how to make that happen, no matter where in the world they reside. One of the most powerful catalysts for changing your life comes from the people you surround yourself with. And sometimes, those people aren’t within a 5 mile radius of where you are.

To this day, some of my most important friendships are long distance.

They stretch between California, Colorado, over to Sweden, Italy, and down to Morocco. The difference between now and my younger years of snail mail penpals is that I’ve actually met these people. All of these friendships, save one, started online. I cherish each of them.

When travel, penpals, and snail mail aren’t guiding my writing, I dabble here and there with writing prompts I come across (my personal favourites include The Moon Lists, the Allswell Creative feed by Laura Rubin, Intelligent Change, and of course Beth Kempton’s Winter Writing Sanctuary from which this essay has been prompted). They are helpful when needing a bit of direction, but the most powerful thought prompts are little nuggets I pick up throughout my daily life: conversations with people, observations of human behaviour, floods of thoughts that always douse my brain during nature walks, hikes, and bike rides. I record these in an ongoing list titled “Sticky Notes of Wisdom” within one of my notebooks.

Writing, contrary to what non-writers might see, is anything but passive.

At least for me, I am the first to admit my difficulty in sitting still for more than ten minutes at a time. Today’s writing session consisted of about 20% writing and 80% cleaning my house.

To write is to take life a few layers deeper. To sink your teeth in beyond the surface of each lived experience. It may even be a tool to take a trip back in time to relive a cherished moment.

I know for myself that writing about life slows the passing of time.

In two ways, writing serves as a time machine.

The first way is through an extension of time. Buffers, book-ends, the space in between, titration - call it what you’d like. It’s a deep inhale before the experience, and the spaciousness that follows is a relaxing exhale. Ahhhhhhh…. Leading to integration of the full body so you can soak it up like a sponge.

The second way is through the potency of the experience in real time. To write is to pay attention to details that others might normally miss. To zoom in to intricacies. As an introvert, we have the gift of observation. While others talk, talk, talk away, our ears and eyes tune in a little deeper to what is going on around us.

It’s one reason I’ve enjoyed the art of poetry. One can write endless prose about the way a drop of dew balances on the tip of a leaf.

Writing is communication.

It is art. It is a way of making meaning of the world. It is an emotional processor. It is documentation. And on a personal level, it is most certainly my love language.

Proust has described the relationship between the reader and writer as, “that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude.”

There have been many times in my life when I’ve received feedback that my writing has touched someone, helped them through a hard time, supported their healing, or helped them feel less alone or more understood.

It has been easier to share my full self online and be vulnerable - to a point that is has confused observers that I am not, in fact, an extrovert.

It’s an intriguing phenomenon, but surprisingly common. Many of the artists I admire share their work from places of solitude, with deep roots in the natural world. From these natural sanctuaries it seems easier to share one’s heart on the sleeve to an audience a world away.

Intriguing because it gives strangers across the world a feeling of knowing you - creating one way feelings of familiarity that are not usually mutually felt. Unless that person has taken time to step out from the comfort of a passive observer and into an active participant of the storyline.

Knowing how my writing has touched people in the past, I ask myself: who would I be in the world of the extrovert, if I wasn’t a writer and if I didn’t have these tools to expand my world at the tips of my fingers? How different might I be if I didn’t have tools that gave me the opportunity to express my creativity to strangers?

Quite frankly I’m inclined to think I’d be halfway to a bumbling idiot and well on my way to being a social outcast - incapable of dragging myself through uncomfortable small talk in multitudes of people.

Writing is a way to make meaning of experiences.

It is a tool to share stories of travel and growth. As a solo traveler of sixteen years and counting, this has been a way to deepen my connection to people, decipher culture shock, share moments of awe, and confess challenges.

In times of feeling alone with struggle, it’s been a way to reach out into the unknown, and I have often been met with “me too” from somewhere in the world. When it comes to sharing the beauty behind the experiences and the determination to overcome struggles in foreign places, a wonderful side effect is such reflections often inspire others. I will never know how many walk away feeling something different in their heart, or with a different outlook on the world. I suppose that is part of the magic.

But if one changes the creative process to seek the approval of others, that magic begins to dissipate.

Problems with writing have always revealed themselves when I’ve started to focus on that side effect as the goal.: writer’s block paired with frantically looking for a “point” behind whatever story I’m transcribing.

Those problems can be traced back to the first blogging class I signed up for, sometime around 2015. My writing began to shift from pure artistic expression, to trying to please people - forcing creativity into a structure, thinking about SEO, keywords, etc. And thus began my unfortunate fall from grace.

Authenticity is not something I find in “How to…” or “Top 5 Ways to…” Although I do have an abundance of helpful resources to share with my audience, that is its own genre, and outside of the realm of creativity. In those cases, it’s not about a general guide of what works for people, but specifics that have worked for me. It’s the only way I can stand behind something at 100%.

There is pure creativity, and there is marketing.

I understand why it’s needed. Sometimes our pen gets stuck. Sometimes we want to find ways to monetize the words people love so much.

But I also know that the most value lies in stories that are steeped in the full, raw human experience. Stories that take hours to write, and are not easy to copy and paste and replicate in a million different ways. In the age of mass “content creation” focused on quantity and clickbait, Deep Work by Cal Newport was a reassuring reminder of the value that comes from things that take chunks of time to create. As the world teeters precariously into AI, this is a reminder I need to cling onto. One that values the human experience.

There is no cure for writer’s block, and I can only speak to my own experience. My muse usually shows up so long as I make ample empty space for her. And “the point” I sometimes struggle with? It often shows up organically without trying and striving and forcing.

A life well-lived is the source of inspiration, after all. Words need not aim to inflate a story beyond what it is. To write is simply to translate what is true in this moment, right here and right now.

So, why write?

I may as well retort with the question, but why do you breathe?

Ooph, this was a long one! I do not often let myself run loose with stream of consciousness pages, but enjoyed the places this took me. I would love to hear what writing means to you and it elevates your human experience. Why do you write?