Why write? I mean, thousands and millions have done it before. What’s the point? Who really cares what I might have to say, and what does it really matter if I do or if I don’t? Do I really have something to say in the midst of the monotonous cacophony of authors that exist today? 

“There is nothing new under the sun.” Everything that can be said has been said before and is being said now and will be said again. Right? So why even start? Add my voice to the noise? Throw my two cents in on top of the billions of pennies already in the pile? On some level it doesn’t even seem worth it. 

Should I have a goal if I write? Is writing a calling? Once you put something out there in black and white, it’s there for the whole world to see, it’s right there and anyone can say something about it. Do I want that? Is that providing value for humanity in some way? “Of the making of many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body.” I think it wearies the mind, as well. 

Television portrays the schizophrenic hearing voices in  his head, committing acts of violence to somehow deaden the sound. In the end, it would be better for all of us if he just killed himself instead of butchering others. So, why should I lend my words to this mess? What will it gain? Who will it benefit? Won’t I just be one among millions or billions? And yet, here I am, writing about it. Writing about writing. That’s not even a new idea. 

But I don’t know any other way to explore the possibilities of the idea. If I just talk it out, I can’t go back and listen to it (well, if I just got a voice recorder, I suppose I could). Writing it down changes it, gives it teeth, makes it permanent. Again, who cares? Writers have been writing about writing and wrestling with it for centuries. What makes me different? What makes me the same? What makes me think there is anything of value that can come from these fingers? 

This world has too many words already, doesn’t it? And, yet, that is Christ. He is the Word. Wow, what a choice. Gazillions of words have been spoken over time, and here goes God, bringing his Son down to us, and calling him the Word made flesh. He was the Word and he made his dwelling among us. The Word. Now it’s like no other words matter. But they do, because he gave men more words, important words, Bible words. So now we need to pay attention. Out of all the words in the world, could there be any as important as those? 

If God was here and he spoke, shouldn’t we listen, read, re-read the things he said? Shouldn’t they be worth passing on, the ideas that are born in words from God? Ideas! How can I form an idea without words? How can I even think without words? Can I? Is there any way to think a thought without language? Can I remember things without language? If I don’t know how to read, write, or speak, can I even communicate? 

What does it matter if my writing matters? Maybe the desire to write is in itself a good desire, a noble desire, a worthy pursuit. Perhaps communication of any kind – in word, song, picture – is simply the way we are, the way we have been designed. Possibly, if I don’t write, I am denying the very essence of something. If my writing doesn’t matter, then why should my speaking matter, or my singing, or my embrace or my kiss? Maybe I should just stop trying to communicate altogether, if that’s the way I feel about it. Or maybe I should embrace it and work with it, let it work itself out through me. Maybe it’s bigger than me.

I’m not sure I’ve reached a conclusion on the matter. More hot air. What if it’s about more than whether or not to write? What if they question is less about if I should write and more about the content of my writing? If writing is more or less obligatory, perhaps I need to change the question. What should I write about? Where should I go with this writing? Who should I convince to read my writing? I wonder who has written about writing that I could write about reading.  

In a world where a single phrase constitutes news, it seems at least a bit discouraging to attempt writing. Words are so fleeting a phenomenon in this time. Why should I cast my words upon the waters of this tide? It is a tide that changes far more often than the seas’.