Many writers feel angst in face of the blank page ¹. No matter how much experience they have, or what kind of things they write, there is a feeling of inadequateness that accompanies the writing process. Many questions come to mind: Does what I have to say make sense? Is it relevant? Am I saying it right? Are my arguments coherent? However, the most common question, and probably the most devastating, is: Has somebody else not already said this? And, since they obviously have, what is the point of saying it all over?

You would think that the rational response to such anxiety would be to put down the pen and go home, but this is not the case. The volume of literature out there in the form of books, blogs, op-eds, and the rest, suggests that something inside the writers around the world inevitably manages to surmount all of that internal struggle and produce something which they are willing to show the rest of the world. Only to go through the same things the next time they are faced with the blank screen, and something in their minds they want to express.

Why would anyone choose to go through such a process every time?

Because the words on those pages give us the chance to tell our story. In those words we become the authors of our stories, the heroes of our journeys. What we are saying may have been said by a million people before us, probably better, but it has not been said with our voices. They may have seen the same things we see, but not from where we are standing. They weren’t wearing our shoes. And even if they were, they aren’t us, period. When we write, we are making an attempt to the collective wisdom of humanity. We are experiencing and expressing our humanity; placing our fears, hopes and struggles next to those faced by those who came before us, with the hope that it may help, correct or inspire those who travel along us, or even those who may come after us.

Writing helps us make meaning of life. Every piece of writing is the author’s attempt to make meaning of the complexities he or she faces. The only way to learn about any tool, such as a hammer is to use it. You don’t learn about hammers by reading manuals about them, or by watching people use them. You learn by hitting nails with them. When you hit a nail, or anything else, with a hammer, you come to appreciate its strength, its ability to create and destroy, as well as its feeling in your hands. So too with ideas and experiences: You only fully understand ideas by using them, and the blank page is a laboratory where we can experiment with ideas… play with them, understand their weaknesses, and see how they are applied to our lives.

Many writers by nature are more comfortable dealing with abstract ideas than they are with people. For them, the written word offers them their greatest chance to make a difference in the world. They may never get the chance (or even the ability) to lead people to war, or command the kind of respect that makes people do things for them. However, in the letters on the page they can influence lives; they can heal, inspire and correct. The most fortunate of them can even influence entire generations… all by scribbling words on a page.

Writing is a solitary activity. Sometimes it can be an especially lonely one. In many ways it is a mysterious thing too, for nobody really understands what language is, or what words are, and why they have the kind of power they do. But amid all this lies its power: The words which flow through our fingers change our hearts first, before they do anything or anybody else. And when done right, [the process of] writing is its own reward.