Writing for Myself (and No One Else)

A little bit self-indulgent here and I deviated from the original point. Also this comes off a little sensitive, although I’m not really (am I?). Let’s call it passionate.

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I recently shared one of my writing pieces with my best friend and (in addition to fantastic and thorough feedback, which I gushed about) her response was: I’m glad to always get to read your work, but I wish I could contribute by giving back to you too, instead of just consuming your ‘gift’ (her words, not mine). She then told me, “No gift should come for free.”

But some gifts do come for free. I truly believe this. I don’t believe in many things being zero-sum or requiring some invisible facilitation of reciprocity. This is one of those very ‘gifts’. It’s a pure and unbridled tithing, without exception or expectation. I don’t know why I latched onto the word, ‘gift’, so much. Perhaps because I never saw it as a gift. And you know what - it isn’t, it’s not an offering of any sort. It just is.

I write because I want to share and because I’m excited about it. It’s something that’s personal and meaningful to me. I don’t write because I seek something in return for my own selfish needs. I don’t write to elicit judgement or seek feedback. I welcome new ideas and it helps me grow and see my ideas flourish in new ways, new perspectives. I like that a lot, and that comes highly valued in the creative process and my personal journey.

I don’t take that lightly, it’s of impressive weight. But I don’t write for other peoples’ enjoyment. I do think in writing for others, I end up losing sight of why I write in the first place. I don’t write for you to feel like you are contributing to my growth or that my art is something servicing broadening egos or even as practice for doling creative feedback. To say that makes me feel like I’m writing to pander to someone else’s feedback. I hate that.

It’s truly liberating to not have to write long essays on things I have a very limited interest in these days. Sure, I can pull an all-nighter and churn out 3,000 words on the rise of Emperor Justinian in the Byzantine Era. But, I don’t have to do that anymore. I don’t write for anyone but myself these days. Well, mostly (I do have to occasionally churn out briefs and paragraphs for work, but those are fairly painless).

I am trying to write more content that is less self-indulgent and masturbatory, but for the public purview. I don’t publish everything I write on here. Some things, most things - perhaps - pertain subject matters a little more private. Heck, a lot of the things on here, I feel like already strays into that territory. At the same time, I am also super careful to try not to shape my writing or my content based on the judgement of others. This theory is at strange odds with itself but also such a big part of my growth and direction in the pursuit of this art.

I used to write to cater to what others wanted me to write about, and it took the spirit out of writing. insofar that I did so to receive critique, a grade, or even to get paid. Perhaps this is still the greenness and sensitivity of the hobby to me; but it made something that was difficult for me to reveal - an earnest offering that I attached no expectation or return to - to be something transactional, something servicing someone else’s duty of repayment. It is alright to value the exchange that way, but it sucks the spirit and enjoyment out of it. Writing, at least of this kind - personal and heartfelt - is not a gift. Let’s just enjoy the ride.