Ah yes, that question. “Why do you write?”
It’s one of those that gets asked a lot—especially in writing forums, interviews, and on the back covers of literary memoirs, usually printed in italics for some reason. It can feel a bit… woo-woo. As if the answer should be sacred and profound. (“Because the Muse demands it, obviously.”)
But the truth? Your “why” is probably a lot more practical, changeable, and occasionally downright grubby than the question makes it sound.
When You Know Exactly—And When You Don’t
New writers often know exactly why they’re writing. There’s a fire in their belly. A dream. A goal. It burns hot and bright and keeps them coming back to the page.
Writers who’ve been doing this a while? We can lose track of that original spark. The why can fade into a vague murmur somewhere between deadlines, edits, taxes, and yet another formatting change for Amazon.
When I first started writing, my reason was simple and fierce: to get published. That desire kept me going for years.
Then I got published—and for the next stretch, the reason that kept me hammering at the keyboard was to quit my day job. That one had real teeth.
After I quit the day job, I wrote to avoid the humiliation of having to go back to it. (Let’s call that the “don’t screw this up” phase.)
But in the last few years, both my husband and I have been dealing with cancer. Writing became something else entirely—both harder to do and more essential. I had to learn how to be prolific all over again, from scratch. And that’s when I realized: I’d lost my “why.”
So I started looking for it again.
Why Does Your “Why” Matter?
This isn’t a purely philosophical exercise. Knowing why you write can make a very real, practical difference to your writing life. Here’s how:
- Motivation. A strong “why” gets you back to the keyboard when inertia or doubt is telling you to binge Netflix instead.
- Creative direction. If your “why” is to make a living, you’ll make different choices than someone chasing a literary prize. That’s not a judgment call—just a recognition that your goal should inform your strategy.
- Avoiding burnout. If you know your reason for writing, it’s easier to say no to the things that don’t align with it—whether that’s a genre you hate or a marketing fad that doesn’t feel right.
- The cyclical nature of the “why.” Your reason for writing will change. It may disappear entirely and come back in a new form. You might have a season where you’re writing to survive, and another where you’re writing to explore your voice or tell a deeply personal story. That’s not a failure—it’s normal. A flexible “why” is still a valid one.
- The “why” as an anchor in hard times. When life sideswipes you—and it will—your writing “why” can become more than motivation. It can be a lifeline. Reconnecting with it, even tentatively, can offer direction when everything else is chaos. Writing becomes a space where you can still feel like you.
- Staying human in an AI-saturated market. AI can produce books by the bucketload, optimized to meet market demand. But what it can’t do is write from lived experience—grief, joy, anger, resilience. That’s where we have the edge. The more in touch you are with why you write, the more uniquely human your stories will be—and that’s going to matter more than ever.
How to Find (or Re-Find) Your Why
If you’ve lost touch with your original motivation—or if you suspect it’s evolved—it’s worth exploring. Just don’t try to force an answer in a single journaling session.
Here’s a few ways to begin:
- Make it a daily task. Seriously—put “Why do I write?” as a repeating reminder in your task manager. Let it sit quietly in the back of your brain. Over time, answers will rise to the surface.
- Journal about it. Even five minutes a day. No pressure to find The Big Answer—just see what bubbles up.
- Reread old journals or diaries. Especially the ones from when you first started writing. Look for clues about what excited you back then.
- Revisit your favorite stories. Not the ones you should love—the ones that made your heart race. What about them lit you up?
- Read your first manuscript. Even if it was a hot mess. What were you trying to say? What drove you to finish it?
A Final Thought (Before You Go Staring into the Distance)
Your “why” is probably going to change. Maybe multiple times. That’s normal. It might even disappear for a while, like mine did. But it can come back—different, maybe, but just as powerful.
You don’t need a perfect answer. You just need one that works for now—something that gets you to the page and keeps you moving forward.
And if this post helped you feel a little more grounded—or at least, less alone in the mess—feel free to share it with a fellow writer who might need it too.
Keep going.
