Why I Write

The entire library of my published work consists of this: one poem in my high school newspaper, two peer-reviewed papers on literary theory, and what I post here on Facebook. That's it. So you might understand why I hesitate every time I try (externally at least) to refer to myself as a writer. Sure, I seem to have a knack for saying things, for crafting together words and sentences in a pleasurable cadence that people enjoy reading, but my audience consists mostly of kind friends. That may be a bit of a captive audience, when you come to think of it. But, I get a great deal of satisfaction and pride in thinking--emphasis on thinking--of myself as a writer, and until recently I have never really explored why.

To say that it is a creative outlet seemed too simple an answer, and an answer that easy almost always pushes me into deeper contemplation. So, I have spent the last few days looking back over the work I posted before and after the reunion and reviewing some of the conversations I had while I was there with everyone and after. Whenever I did, certain comments kept surfacing.

Julie referred to what I was writing as "putting [my]self out there," and that struck me because I never really felt like I had exposed or opened myself in any unusually vulnerable way. But I liked the idea of being an open book; that seems honest and comfortable.

Bill was good enough to compliment "Reconciling" as a piece that struck an emotional nerve with everyone. There is likely no greater satisfaction to a writer than knowing that your work touches people. Bill is also a writer himself, so I got the double-pleasure that comes from the approval of a peer.

Trina told me one night that "writing is the loneliest profession," and that it was a good idea that creative minds reach out and connect with other creatives. That was another “aha” moment. For me, the processing of my thoughts and the act of writing feels like a solitary endeavor, but the end result I hope to achieve far from it.

A clearer understanding came through to me in a message I got from my brother Randy, who himself is a published author of devotional books and biographies. I’m kind of proud of this one, so I apologize for including so much of it to make my point: “Raw, vulnerable, powerful, they are—both pieces—the kind of writing that slips past readers’ objections unnoticed, prompting them to reflect on themselves as much as your own experiences. Their Trina; their Rob; their Bill and Mary slips into view and the same thoughts you express suddenly sneak into the scenery, blending their journey with yours.”

Ding ding ding ding ding! “Blending their journey with yours.” That is why I write.

I write to self-examine, but more importantly, I write to understand whatever it is I learn about myself and try to connect it with what everyone else might feel in common. Connections, for me--and I think for all of us--have become very important. My writing is my way of reaching out from that Self and feeling a bond with others. Otherwise, it would be pointless. What would be the purpose of writing about it if it were unique to me alone and meant nothing to anyone else? It would simply be an opinion, or an internal conversation expressed externally, and my internal conversations—for the most-part—are really not that unique or interesting. That I can express them may be. And even as I try to compose my thoughts for this essay I am asking myself what might even be interesting to anyone about the question that titles it. When I answer that question, what is the “so what” that follows for the reader?

In this case, it may only be this: we are all at an age now where we have been fairly shaped by our experiences. We are not pups, nor are we ready for rocking chairs. We are in the comfort zone, where we really don’t have anything to prove to anyone anymore. We are also at a time in our lives where we are more likely to reflect on what it is we have done, what we still want to do, what it all has meant, and—more importantly—what it may mean to those we love and care for. We have enough experience behind us to be knowledgeable, and enough maturity within us to apply that knowledge in much better ways than we would have in previous years. We are also beginning to think of our legacy. What is it that we represent, what do we do that matters, and what is it that we should do from our positioning in that “comfort zone” that may be selfless?

So maybe that is why I write now. And maybe that is why I write more (and hopefully better) now.

Just the other day, when I began to compose this note, I went back to "Reconciling" to reference a couple of comments that friends had made about that piece. They were gone. I'm not sure why, but I imagine it to be some sort of Facebook technology that deletes them after you have too many comments. There was a moment of disappointment for me in seeing that. It wasn't that any record of appreciation or accolade was gone; it was more like an erasure of the connection and conversation between the "me" in the essay and the "everyone else" in the comments. I was kind of bummed by that, even though I still carry the feelings that all those comments gave me. Human emotion-1, modern technology-0.

And in the end I also discovered in all of this a second, very compelling reason for why I write: I write to leave Megan and Kylee my legacy, or at least some sort of insight into who their father was on a level they may not always see. I try my best to be who I am consistently with them, but my role as their father and their youthful perspective may alter or filter that image. Maybe what I write now will mean something different to them when they are older, when they see me more as a person and less as an authority figure or caretaker. I certainly hope so.

Originally published 11/10/09.

© 2009 Cody Kilgore. All Rights Reserved worldwide under the Berne Convention. May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.