Curious friends ask, “Why do you write?” In fact, it is the second most common question about the newsletter following “How do you read five books a month?”

Ten tips for reading five books a month addressed the how, so now let’s tackle the why.

As life moves from certainty to mystery, I write to explore ideas, issues, and questions that change with time. Poet and songwriter Carrie Newcomer writes because she has a question, not because she has an answer. “I’m writing myself into my next becoming.”

I love that thought.

Paul Graham suggests in Writing, Briefly that, “Writing doesn’t just communicate ideas; it generates them.” My best essays serve to work through questions I need to address. In the process I gain new levels of understanding.

MORE TO COME also shares parts of life I love or find fascinating: a photographer’s wonder-filled portraits of America, a musician’s embrace of the intersection of the sacred and the ordinary, meditations on our country’s ideals, baseball’s instantaneous shift from boring to magical, a historian’s analysis that prompts a new way of looking at the world, the awe of watching children grow into adults.

Life is hard because mystery is hard. Life is also joyful and full of wonder. Life, like all truth, is a paradox. With a growing realization that our time here is limited, unpredictable, and sacred, I write to think through the questions and to share the joy I encounter along the way. It’s generally that simple.

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Who cares?

My friend George Farr is a retired senior director at the National Endowment for the Humanities. George, whose late wife Judith wrote two seminal books on the works of Emily Dickenson, says that MORE TO COME is my “Letter to the World.” I love this description in part because of my affection for George and in part because of what Dickenson’s This is my letter to the World says about poetry’s attempts “to translate the broader mysteries of nature into language and communicate them to other people.”

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me—

An important question for every writer is “does anyone care?” As I continue this writing habit, I need to ask myself the “who cares” question more frequently. I certainly write essays just for myself, but more often I have family, friends, and an ever-shifting definition of community in mind. I generally hear about what resonates, sometimes through online comments but more often in real-life conversations. I like it that way.

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Editors

I’m also asked if I have an editor. I would have thought the answer would be obvious.

My wife taught reading and grammar in elementary school and both children had solid training in grammar, English, and creative writing. The three of them have forgotten more rules of grammar than I ever knew.

Yet sometimes I’ll purposely break those rules I do know.

Colum McCann notes, “On occasion we write a sentence that isn’t, in fact, correct, but it sings.  And the question is:  Would you rather be the ornithologist or the bird?”

Mrs. Swafford, my eight-grade English teacher, would shriek with horror at that thought, but I don’t care. On my good days, I’m striving to be the bird.

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Topics

I opine about all manner of things on MTC. In some instances, I even know what I’m talking about.

Books, travel, conversations, essays, and lectures are a springboard to consider certain issues while helping me discover new appreciation for the world’s diversity and wonder. Unwrapping and sharing those discoveries brings me joy. Unsurprisingly, I often find myself working in the rich stew of our messy, often misunderstood, increasingly weaponized, yet always fascinating history.

Inspiration also comes in unexpected places. At this stage I find myself at more funerals than weddings. Sad to say I often discover I didn’t know very much about the deceased. That realization has me eager to hear stories from those around me while they are still alive. Agatha Christie wrote that Funerals Are Fatal but I’m finding that funerals push me to open up to others.

Listening, as always, is key. In fact, Natalie Goldberg suggests in Writing Down the Bones that writing is 90% listening.

If you want to become a good writer, you need to do three things. Read a lot, listen well and deeply, and write a lot.

Oh, and she adds, “don’t think too much.” I have the “not thinking” part down pat, but there’s always work to do with the listening.

“Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” Mary Oliver’s recommendation to writers has become my North Star.

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Gratitude

Anyone who writes owes a debt to others. Poet and essayist Mary Oliver, who always seemed to choose just the right word, is near the top of my list. The historian Heather Cox Richardson — who uses her Letters from an American newsletter “to wrangle our giant, meandering, and confusing news feed into a coherent story” that singles out priorities, precedents, and pathways — is also there.

Amy-Jill Levine considers life’s mysteries and makes me laugh and think simultaneously. Michael Eric Dyson brings passion and urgency to all his work. Others help me think about the craft of writing. Anne Lamott is great, as is John McPhee.

Joe Posnanski is the antithesis of the terse Paul Graham. Joe writes about sports, his hometown of Cleveland, and Taylor Swift because he can’t help it. His old subtitle of Curiously Long Posts was perfect, as Joe can go on forever like a favorite uncle who knows more stories than anyone.

Finally, I’ve often praised the writing of Rebecca Solnit, who understands the long view.

Joy doesn’t betray but sustains activism.  And when you face a politics that aspires to make you fearful, alienated, and isolated, joy is a fine initial act of insurrection.

I hope others find some joy in what I write. If joy is an act of insurrection in these days of outrage and hatred, count me among those scaling the castle walls.

Thanks for reading.

More to come . . .

DJB

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Photos: Writer’s Block (Center for Documentary Studies); others from Pixabay and Unsplash.