Why I Write
Musings on the act of writing and sharing (Parts 1 and 2)
I’m not entirely sure why I share what I write. Perhaps it’s more that I’m not sure of myself and what I have to offer, and thus by extension I question whether it’s worth sharing what I write. I’m no “subject matter expert” and I have led no extraordinary life. I can make no claims to exceptionalism, nor can I claim to be an exceptionally good writer.
I can say for sure that I can’t help writing. Since I was a young child I have always taken refuge in writing my thoughts, as though seeing my internal maelstrom parsed out into strings of legible symbols made it less of a maelstrom. I find myself intrigued or bothered by events in the world and though I cannot claim expertise in Israel-Gaza relations or Australia’s colonial legacy, I do often feel that I’m grasping at some kind of insight that wants to be expressed.
And I suppose I share what I write in the same way that we all (mostly) participate in conversations: because we’re all making sense of things and there is value in coming together to discuss life, the universe and everything.
I’m moving from a blog to Substack because I’ve come to appreciate the Substack platform as a better place for writers to participate in and facilitate important conversations. I like the format, the ease with which I can get email newsletters from writers I follow, and the simple formatting which puts every writer on a level playing field as far as web design goes (my blog is feeling very shabby and I don’t wish to put the time in to update it).
I wrote a short blog piece titled “Why I Write” back in 2022, where I tussled with the duality of writing for its own sake, and yet also writing to share or participate in a conversation. I’m still tussling with that, although I’m more sure these days that what I have to say resonates with people and brings them some degree of comfort, enlightenment, entertainment or all three.
I’ll be drawing on my blog posts to populate this Substack, so that this becomes a repository not only of fresher writings but also of older ones too. And I’ll endeavour to write new reflections on top of whatever old stuff I post. To that end, here’s my original post entitled “Why I Write” published on November 24, 2022:
I’m trying to tease out a paradox in my writing headspace. When I sit down to write, I take some time to set out my intentions and frame up my overall approach. This practice is best narrowed down into two affirmations: one; I remember this life is bigger than me and that I write to participate in this wonderful, miraculous unfolding of creation, and two; I’m not writing for anybody but me. I suppose these two motivations can go hand in hand: as I’m writing, I like to make sure I’m doing it for my own reasons. I like to approach writing as play. I imagine myself as a kitten, batting at toy mice that dangle in front of me, held aloft by unknowable forces. Writing with a point to prove isn’t impossible, but I find it less joyful and I often get tangled in the weeds. Writing for play is a marvel. However, I also find it important to have an intention and purpose to why I’m writing, and I guess that’s where the ‘bigger than me’ thing comes in: it’s not about getting lots of likes or attention, but it is about participating in a flow of knowledge, ideas, culture and, most importantly, emotion. The act of posting to my blog is something that has become second nature to me now. But it wasn’t long ago that I faced a lot of resistance to the concept. Now I’ve felt the urge to post on Instagram after a three-year hiatus, and that’s come with its own baggage as well. Fame and being known are two very different things, but we easily combine the two, and I routinely find myself caught up in fantasies of renown and power. It’s not as though I’m purely and innocently sharing what I write online: there is absolutely an element of self-promotion and an attention seeking agenda at work. But I choose to simply acknowledge that and realise I will never be free of that desire. The best solution, for me, is to engage nevertheless and simply choose to be as aware as I can of these subtle undercurrents that threaten to pull me off course. My true aim is to participate in life through my own authentic self-expression, and when I focus on that, the writing flows effortlessly. It often happens that the writing I do in that state is well received and I’m validated for it, but I know that the validation cannot be the motivation or else the creation loses its spark. I suppose the synthesis of these apparently opposed points is this: while I write for nobody but myself, I also recognise that I am a member of a whole, of a singular existence we call the universe. It’s an orientation that keeps me both powerfully attuned to myself but also powerfully engaged in a spirit of service and contribution.
'My true aim is to participate in life through my own authentic self-expression...'
Appreciate this muchly. Thanks for sharing the old words and the fresh ones.