Why I Write In a World Already Saturated With Writers

And the quotes I cling to when words won't come.

I’ve been writing since I could hold a pencil.

And guarding those early words with a tiny gold lock, as if my five-year-old secrets were classified. (They weren’t. Mostly Donny Osmond commentary, playground drama, and whether my latest crush read the love note I slipped into his locker.)

Sidenote: I tossed those childhood journals. I wish I hadn’t. If you still have yours, keep them close.

In grade school, my stories were always chosen by the teacher to be read aloud. I even wrote a play, which my entire class performed it for the whole school. My one unforgettable line: “I think he’s coming! I can smell his breath!” was far from Pulitzer-worthy, but still.

My mom asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.

“A writer!” I said.

“Why would you want to do that?” she asked. “There are already so many writers.”

Still, I kept writing.

College papers, marketing proposals, ad copy. While raising my son, I tried to save the earth, one blog post at a time, then shifted to writing essays about life. After my divorce, I had to get “a real job,” and the writing ebbed.

Then came the COVID layoff. And, slowly, the writing returned.

Lately, there’s procrastination. And a parade of distractions.

I stare at the blank page. It stares back. Time crumbles away.

Then my damn inner voice—who I’ve started calling Cybil—chimes in: Will it be good enough? Will it get read? What if nobody cares? Why bother?

Lint on my elbow suddenly feels important. Then come the birds at the feeder. An Instagram reel of dogs’ faces on top of human bodies, wearing leisurewear and eating spaghetti with human hands. The pile of clothes that need to be folded. And just like that, my brain is officially hijacked.

But then the words start to itch, and I have to let them out or they’ll eat me alive from the inside.

And just when I find my rhythm, life throws a wrench in it.

Cybil berates me for squandering the precious pre-wrench downtime. You had time in your grubby little hands. You could have been writing!

F*** you, Cybil. Did I say that out loud?

Eventually, I return to the why. The reason I do this at all.

I make more sense when I write. I’ve always said I’m a writer, not a talker. If non sequiturs were a country, I’d be queen. Writing gives me order. A hint of logic. Confidence. And the luxury of editing.

These days, I write about life. The hard parts—grief, aging, identity shifts. And the good stuff, too. Moments of beauty, absurdity, humor. I try to keep it real, and I try to keep it human.

And yes, I’m writing a novel. Me and half of the internet. Because the world clearly needs another writer.

Writing helps me understand myself. And when I share those words, something kind of magical happens. Someone says, “me too.” Or “thank you.” Or “I needed this.” And yes, I admit it: I light up when someone calls me a good writer. That praise puts blood back in my veins so I can keep going.

It’s not easy. Blank screens are terrifying, especially when they stare back. But eventually, letters turn into words, and words into meaning. And my world feels a little more solid beneath me.

I write because I need to.
And I’m grateful to you for reading.

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And the quotes I cling to when I can’t:

Sometimes writing is like therapy. Other times it’s like dragging a piano through wet sand. These quotes help either way.

✦ When I procrastinate or panic

The worst thing you write is better than the best thing you didn’t write.
—Unknown

Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.
—Anne Lamott

Start before you're ready.
—Steven Pressfield

I only write when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock.
—William Faulkner

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✦ When I forget why I do this

I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.
—Flannery O’Connor

To survive, you must tell stories.
—Umberto Eco

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
—Maya Angelou

The purpose of art is to wash the dust of daily life off our souls.
—Pablo Picasso

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✦ When I need permission to write my way

Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.
—Natalie Goldberg

Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say.
—Barbara Kingsolver

If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.
—Toni Morrison

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✦ When the only way out is through

You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed. Then you let the words dry and send them in.
—Gene Fowler

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✦ And this one—because it’s just true

We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little.
—Anne Lamott

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Is there something you long to do—but keep avoiding? Writing, painting, starting a llama farm? Would love to hear about it (and whether this gave you the nudge to).