Why Write?

Why sit down and face the terror of a blank page when Netflix exists?

"Writing is the painting of the voice." – Voltaire.

Writing is like a Swiss Army knife for life: a tool that slices through confusion pokes holes in pretension, and files down the sharp edges of our emotions.

It's an act of self-expression, a pathway to growth, and sometimes, a hilarious misadventure involving a rogue semicolon. But why write at all? Why sit down and face the terror of a blank page when Netflix exists?

The answer lies in how writing helps us grow and sharpens our thinking and why mastering the basics is the fertiliser for this glorious garden of self-expression.

Writing as Growth

Writing is like therapy—except it's free, doesn't require awkward eye contact, and never asks, "How does that make you feel?" It forces us to slow down and untangle the chaos in our heads.

As the author E.M. Forster famously quipped, "How do I know what I think until I see what I say?"

When we write, we become cartographers of our minds, mapping out fears, dreams, and, occasionally, shopping lists that get stuck in our consciousness. In this process, writing doesn't just reveal who we are; it helps us grow into who we might become.

Let's use journaling as an example. What begins as a rant about John stealing your lunch at work evolves into a revelation about your boundaries and how you assert them.

Writing transforms our lived experiences into lessons, giving us clarity to navigate life's chaos.

Crawling Before You Write a Marathon

Let's be honest: writing without knowing the basics is like trying to bake a soufflé without knowing what an oven is. Before we wax poetic or pen epic tales, we must learn the alphabet of clarity: grammar, punctuation, and structure.

Learning grammar feels about as fun as eating raw kale, but it's the foundation upon which the magic of writing stands.

As the humorist Lynne Truss said in her punctuation manifesto Eats, Shoots & Leaves, "Punctuation marks are the traffic signals of language: they tell us to slow down, notice this, take a detour, and stop."

With the basics, our grand ideas will be able to comprehend the word salad. Imagine trying to decipher a heartfelt note from a friend that says, "Let's eat Grandma" instead of "Let's eat, Grandma." The importance of a comma is life-saving.

There's something almost magical about pouring our innermost thoughts onto a blank page. It's an emotional exorcism in which the demons of doubt, anger, or confusion are laid bare and, occasionally, outsmarted with a clever metaphor.

Writing allows us to relive moments, reshape them, and, in doing so, heal. When Anne Frank wrote, "I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn," she wasn't just narrating her life—she was reclaiming her strength.

Humour, too, becomes a survival mechanism in writing. Got dumped? Sure, you could cry for weeks, or you could write a poem titled "Ode to My Ex's Terrible Taste in Pizza."

When we learn to laugh at our pain through writing, it loses its grip on us.

Writing captures who we are at a given moment. Our texts and emails are modern-day hieroglyphs, though future archaeologists might wonder why we communicated primarily through emojis and GIFs of cats falling off tables.

But in all seriousness, writing immortalises our growth. A letter to your future self can later feel like discovering a time capsule filled with wisdom, cringe-worthy anecdotes, and maybe a joke about TikTok that didn't age well. Through writing, we see how far we've come, like emotional and intellectual before-and-after photos.

Writing isn't all introspection and serious growth. It's also where we play. Fiction, poetry, and even ridiculous limericks are exercises in boundless creativity.

As novelist Ursula K. Le Guin remarked, "The creative adult is the child who survived."

Writing makes us dream bigger, sparking the imagination in ways that few other activities can. It's how J.K. Rowling transformed the question "What if wizards went to school?" into a global phenomenon and how Douglas Adams made us laugh at the absurdity of life, the universe, and everything.

Even brainstorming nonsense can unearth brilliance. Imagine writing a story about a penguin learning ballet. Stupid right? You'll either end up with a laugh or, who knows, the next Pixar blockbuster.

Writing as Connection

Here's a secret: writing isn't just about the writer. It's about connection. When you write, you throw a message in a bottle out to the vast ocean of human experience, hoping someone will read it and nod, "Me too."

This is why learning the basics matters. Your writing needs clarity to bridge the gap between your thoughts and someone else's understanding.

As William Zinsser advised in his book On Writing Well, "Simplify, simplify."

Through stories, essays, and even Twitter rants, we discover we're not alone. Great writing makes us laugh, cry, and feel seen. As Maya Angelou put it, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."

The Courage to Write

Writing isn't for the faint of heart. Staring at a blank page is the literary equivalent of standing at the edge of a diving board, hoping the pool isn't empty. The first draft is often ugly, riddled with clichés, and makes you wonder why you didn't take up knitting instead.

Growth comes through the mess. Writing is rewriting. It's fixing that weird metaphor about hedgehogs you thought was brilliant at 2 a.m. and finding the rhythm of your voice.

Neil Gaiman offers sage advice: "The process of writing is sitting down and putting one word after another. It's that easy and that hard."

Why Write? Because Life Demands It

We write to grow, to laugh, and to make sense of this peculiar thing called life. We write to capture fleeting moments, to imagine new worlds, and to connect with others across time and space.

And yes, we write to learn the basics—those pesky commas and semicolons—so that our thoughts leap off the page instead of stumbling into incoherence.

So grab a pen, a keyboard, or even a napkin. Write something today: a haiku, a complaint about your noisy neighbour, or a love letter to burgers.

Because writing isn't just something we do; it's who we are. As Joan Didion said, "I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear."

And really, isn't life just one long, messy, glorious draft waiting to be revised?