Writing Things Down

Writing is not easy, and it’s easier for some than others. Personally I don’t find it hard to write about things that interest me, but I know some do. Different types of writing come more naturally to different people—I find writing fiction challenging, so I rarely attempt it. Perhaps that’s an opportunity for growth rather than avoidance.

When I’m writing about a topic I’m passionate about, the words flow effortlessly. The main challenge is that my fingers can’t keep pace with my brain, so thoughts sometimes evaporate before reaching the page. They often return later, like old friends showing up unexpectedly, but not always.

As a student, I struggled with writing exercises and typically received poor grades. The rigid structure of academic writing—following strict rubrics and formulaic approaches—stifled my creativity. Essay writing required adhering to specific structures, and creative assignments demanded conventional story formats with precise word counts. Anything innovative or outside the box was discouraged.

Now that I write online, it feels a lot less boxed in. That freedom applies to any creative endeavor—the only constraints are those you choose to accept.

Grammar and spelling matter, but they’re not the essence of writing, contrary to what many of us were taught in school. While technical correctness received emphasis in my education, I was fortunate to encounter a few exceptional English teachers who nurtured the creative aspects of writing. Their influence remains with me today.

So what actually matters most in writing? The answer varies depending on who’s writing, their objectives, and to some extent, their audience’s expectations. You might write purely for yourself—keeping a private journal that you never revisit—or share your thoughts widely online, potentially becoming what the internet calls a “Thought Leader.”

If you’re writing for an audience to communicate ideas, content likely takes priority. If writing for yourself, the process itself becomes paramount. I do both, depending on the day.

I’ve learned far more about writing from reading than from the actual practice of writing itself. It’s similar to software development—reading and understanding others’ code teaches you more than just writing your own. Reading a lot leaves its mark on how you write, whether you mean it to or not.

Nevertheless, you still have to do the writing. Like playing an instrument, painting, or developing any skill, you must invest the time and effort. Author Malcolm Gladwell famously proposed the 10,000-hour rule for mastery, and whatever you think of the number, you only get better by doing the work.

I rarely feel satisfied with my own writing. Editing my work feels tedious, and revisiting old pieces often makes me wince. Yet surprisingly, I continue to write, and people continue to read. It’s gratifying when something I nearly talked myself out of posting still lands with someone.

Writing is challenging because it requires translating complex thoughts into words that others can not only read but understand as you intended. Effective communication is rare; many people struggle because they either don’t express their true thoughts, communicate in ways others can’t comprehend, or remain silent altogether. Others view communication as a tool for manipulation rather than genuine exchange of ideas.

For me, language is there to help one person understand another. While we emphasize rules and structure, these elements should serve the primary goal of communicating ideas, not hinder it. I’m not suggesting grammar is irrelevant, but it shouldn’t obstruct your message. Sometimes, breaking conventions can enhance your unique voice—James Joyce’s “Ulysses” and Cormac McCarthy’s punctuation-sparse style demonstrate how “incorrect” grammar can create powerful, distinctive prose.

If readers grasp what you meant, you’ve done the job (assuming you want to be read at all). If you’re writing solely for the process, then simply putting words on the page is achievement enough—everything else is secondary.

I write both for the process and to communicate ideas. Often, articulating thoughts on paper (or screen) helps clarify them in my mind. Choosing precise words and constructing sentences solidifies abstract concepts into tangible form. Sometimes I don’t know what I think about something until I’ve written a few paragraphs about it.

Blogging about writing has admittedly become something of a cliché among online writers, so perhaps I’m contributing to that trend. Still, I keep coming back to it because writing changes how I think, not just how I say things.