Why I Write

Why do I write when it’s so difficult? Because so many things that matter in this world are the result of hard, thoughtful work. Writing keeps my head straight. Writing connects me with other people, alive and dead. People I know and those I’ll never meet. Through writing I can show others my heart and my wits. Writing requires bravery—it’s so public! It’s a record of my beliefs, choices, knowledge (or lack thereof), creativity. I’m reminded of Williams’ “I write knowing I will always fail.” We have to write, even though our words will always hide something. Through words, we make meaning of our world, even if that meaning is limited. Through words we give meaning to our experiences. It’s a kind of freedom, really. I think of Emily Dickinson here, the famously reclusive 19th century poet, who wisely told her niece Martha that freedom is a private room where one can write, alone and undisturbed. For more on the freedom of a confined space in which to write, see Adrienne Rich‘s “Vesuvius At Home.”