Why should we write?

Why Should We Write?

Writing strengthens our ability to

1. Pay attention 

2. Think independently

3. Empathize 

I became an English teacher because I was so taken with the power of language to move, provoke, surprise, entertain, delight, sadden, teach, etc. etc.  As a young adult, I was awed by the power of a poet or author to put into words some part of me—or some experience—that I was yet to understand.  Reading literature was like holding a mirror—or perhaps a microscope—up to myself and the world around me.  An author’s story, even when written centuries ago, gave rise to new ideas, new awareness, and new understanding within myself.  “YES!  That’s exactly what I’ve felt before!  I am not alone in this world.  This is what it’s like to be a human.”

Not only did I find such power in others’ writing, but also in my own.  As I learned how to better arrange, construct, and refine language myself, it spurred me to pay attention to the world I was writing about.  Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird describes this phenomenon: “[I]n order to be a writer, you have to learn to be reverent.”  Lamott describes reverence as “awe, as presence in and openness to the world.”  “There is ecstasy in paying attention,” she writes, “You can get into a kind of Wordsworthian openness to the world, where you see in everything the essence of holiness” (99-100).  In other words, the habitual act of writing trains our brain to observe the world more closely—maybe at first so that we have material to write about.  But over time, our interesting observations beget more observations, more awareness, more reflection, and so on. 

This presence, as I’ve discovered, is a profoundly beautiful gift.  John Green also echoes this sentiment: “Almost everything turns out to be interesting if you pay the right kind of attention to it,” he says.  It’s like shining a flashlight in the dark; we focus our attention—and therefore our readers’ attention—on whatever objects, thoughts, ideas we choose.  And like a sculptor meticulously shapes clay to bring her subjects to life for others to experience, writers use language to do the same.

Writing, then, is also the process by which we shape and refine our thinking. Writing IS thinking.  As we wrestle with how best to communicate our ideas, we’re forced to clarify what we mean.  And as we wrestle with what the heck we actually do mean, we come to hone our ideas.  Without writing, our ideas might be nothing more than vague imaginings floating through our consciousness.  But when we build our ideas into tangible art others can experience, we’re forced to examine every facet of our thought.  Is my idea clearly stated?  Is it fully explained?  What effect might this word provoke?  Or will readers be confused, poking holes in a weak argument until it crumbles?  The writing process forces us to ask and answer these questions, which in turn shapes our thinking. 

Writing as thinking is also evident in the act of journaling. Have you ever stressed over a problem before deciding to write about it?  For me, a problem spins around in my mind, growing ever more ominous and insurmountable—until I write it down.  Maybe a friend or family member unknowingly says something that rubs me the wrong way.  Cue the spiral.  “Why would she say that?  What could she mean?  Does she even care?...” and on and on like an ever-growing snowball rolling downhill.  (Exhausting, right?)

HOWEVER, as soon as I put my feelings onto the page, it’s like slowly deflating a tire.  The worry no longer spirals endlessly.  Instead, putting my feelings into words forces me to make sense of them—and once I’ve done the thinking required to explain my feelings, they’ve suddenly become wholly manageable (if not entirely ridiculous and overblown).  Writing thus helps me to be more in control of my thinking.  I have more control over the ideas I let take root, and the thoughts I choose to let pass.

Lastly, writing, like reading, helps us grow in empathy.  Reading stories obviously helps us understand (and therefore empathize with) people, places, and experiences we might not have encountered otherwise.  Good writers can make their readers feel what their characters are feeling.  That’s because the act of writing forces us to consider our audience.  Even when we’re writing something as short as a text or email, we’re forced to consider how the recipient might interpret these words.  Everyone knows the drastic difference in tone between a text reply that says, “K” versus, “Okay, sounds great!”  The former is curt and ambiguous; the latter is warm and friendly.  Thus, when we write anything, we’re forced to ask ourselves, how will this text make my reader feel?  Am I getting my meaning across clearly? How would I feel if I read / received this piece of writing?

In summary, the act of writing increases our capacity for awareness, empathy, and independent thought.  Writers learn to pay attention to the world around them because they write about—and thus reflect on—the world around them.  Writers then give words to human experiences, potentially helping readers to better understand themselves and the world around them. 

What’s more, storytelling and the writing process, so far as we know, is uniquely human.  And in a world that’s increasingly driven by artificial intelligence and convenience technology, it seems more important than ever to hold on to our humanness.  This is especially true for our children, who are still developing the skills for independent thought and expression. 

So, I encourage you . . .  Let’s write.