My Motivation for Writing can Change from One Day to the Next
It’s a scary thing, but it keeps me on my toes.
Writing has always been a huge part of who I am. I almost wish I had kept a copy of every document, article, story, poem, eBook, blog post or grocery list I have ever written — just to gaze in wonder at the huge pile of scribble that has flowed from my brain over the decades since my childhood. If you ask me why I write, I guess some of the typical motivations will come to the forefront:
- I want to share my vision and my experiences of the world with anyone willing to read my words.
- I want validation that my brain can produce coherent interpretations — and I want someone (anyone) to agree with me — or to present a coherent argument to the contrary.
- Yes, I would like to earn money at some level for my efforts. The vain part of me feels the world will be willing to pay for my thoughts if they are, in fact, worthy. And, I admit, sometimes I measure my creative worth in dollar signs.
- I want to write without caring what the rest of the world thinks. This is in direct contradiction to the previous thought, but I don’t care — what I felt yesterday and what I feel today do not always coincide.
- I write to sort out the chaos in my brain. I live in a crazy world — one that doesn’t always align with my vision of utopia. My written words help to put things in a more manageable order.
I am happiest as a writer when I don’t take the time to read what other writers have to say on the craft. Oh, I know how important it is to read and interact with the ideas out there in the world. I do so on a regular basis. It’s just that — it messes with my brain to deal with the contradictory advice being spewed by both the wise and the clueless — often at the same time. Should I write purely for the mental therapy it gives me? Should I write to share my ideas with the world? Should I write to earn a living wage? Should I simply write in any haphazard fashion that suits me on any given day?
Ultimately, I write because words and ideas continuously gather in my brain. If I push aside the desire to write, instead filling my day with the other minutiae of life, I soon feel edgy and out of sorts. Something necessary is missing from my life when I’m not writing. I fantasize that one day before I die I will actually write something meaningful — words the world has been waiting to read since the beginning of time. Yes, at times I am actually that vain and full of myself. I know it hasn’t happened yet — nowhere near. But, if I stop writing, it’s a safe bet it will never happen. The secrets of the universe, buried deep inside me now, will stay there forever. They will ultimately be buried deep along side of me.
Some days I am excited to reach for my laptop. I have many ideas, good ideas, that leap onto the screen. I am prolific. I like those days. Some days, I circle around my laptop, maybe check emails or social media — pretending I’m preparing to write something — only to reach the end of my day no further ahead than when I began. I go to bed on those nights feeling a little disappointed. It was a wasted writing day from my life that I will never get back.
It can be a difficult task to be a writer with no clear objective in mind. World dominance on the intellectual front is probably not going to cut it. Making writing a successful full-time, money making, career fulfilling, occupation is a stretch on a good day.
Writing — because writing is, and always has been, the driving force powering my brain — is the one constant in my world where I know I can always come back to my laptop, stare at a fresh screen, and give the world a piece of my mind. Writing is my superpower.
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