Why I write

A confession

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Wizardology by Anne Yvonne Gilbert

I write because I have a swashbuckling cavalcade of ideas swarming from the trenches of my mind. Actually, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m no pen yielding genius nor do I have an authorial hand that magically weaves dreamlike fantasy worlds of magicians, wizards and flying broomsticks. You see, the truth of why I write is less grandiose.

Writing imparts a certain gravitas to my being - it rekindles stories and thoughts within me that are typically buried under the weight of life’s unending practicalities. It is a methodical sieving through of noise and chatter to access the otherwise inaudible whispers of introspection. An introspection that involves an honest assessment of the self and what it means to live meaningfully with expectations, assumptions and desires erected by our civilization’s most unforgiving institutional, corporate, and political power structures.

Each essay I’ve released over the past year, to varying degrees, pits worldly rationality against the intangible bonds that hold humanity together. It questions if the former, can, in any way, thrive alongside the latter’s blossoming. The answer is never clear or never closer to being realised and it isn’t meant to be. But words provide us with a torch to navigate through this darkness, because “finding the words is another step in learning to see”, as bryologist Robin Wall Kimmerer once wrote.

If I’ve in any way imbued writing with a fantastical power to solve the unsolvable, I can assure you now, this is not the case. Writing isn’t always about breaking new existential ground. It can also shed light on the tragically dour and even painful elements of our everyday lives. At times, pouring our views on a blank canvas can involve revisiting discarded memories from the abandoned boxes, left lying beneath unpleasant mounds of soiled fates and muddy losses. But even in doing so, we are paying tribute to the beauty of the mundane and real, reinventing perspectives in new light.

This publication has blessed me with the opportunity to interlock fingers with reality and walk by its side. In serving readers with my own ruminations and learning about theirs, it has become clear to me that life isn’t easy or difficult. It goes on like the endless tide and it is for us to seek the precious.

It was Faulkner who ones lamented how toxic it is to write from a place of fear rather than a place of hope for the human heart. The sacred duty of a writer is to help man endure the peaks and throughs of life by lifting his heart and reminding him that his purpose transcends all that is material. That is why I write.

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Before I end today’s missive, here are a few newsletters that are part of my staple reading diet. They cut across a myriad of topics and are penned by authors who are certainly well acquainted with the writing craft and how to make words flourish. If you’ve got a newsletter that you think I might enjoy, please share it below in the comments.

So, what does writing mean to you? I’d love to hear your views. Please scribble them down below in the comments.