Why Do We Write?

Two Great New Books For Writers and Readers

Buy these books and support the women who are the truth tellers.

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. And I’ve been working on a scandalous memoir with lots of sex, true stories that name names, and secrets that can never be revealed until after I’m dead. So when I saw my friend Elissa Altman offering a memoir course in Provincetown, MA, on “Permission,” I signed up right away. Silly me, I assumed it was about how to get legal permission to write about people and things that they might not want said. But it was really about giving ourselves permission to tell our own true stories.

The week I spent in that workshop was transformative. First of all, the women who were in the class were amazing. I’ll admit, when I first met them, I was a bit intimidated and nervous. These were beautiful and accomplished women, and I was sharing one of my most deeply personal stories that I’d never shared before. But they were, too. And I quickly realized that there are all sorts of sordid, shocking stories behind beautiful faces. Every day, we read each other’s work and gave in-depth, hopefully helpful critiques.

But there was one writer whom I simply had no critiques for. Her writing was flawless to me. Her voice was sharp, strong, irreverent, and incredibly descriptive. All without pretension, which is something I don’t enjoy in the things I read. Judith Newcomb Stiles’ first book, Hush Little Fire, just came out, and I highly recommend you read it. Or listen to it since it’s read by an all-star cast. It’s not a memoir, it’s a mystery! But it’s also filled with family secrets, disguised as fiction. It’s a perfect beach read! Especially if you read it on the beach named for her ancestors, Newcomb Hollow Beach in Wellfleet, Cape Cod, where some of the novel takes place.

As Elissa writes in her new book Permission, which is part memoir, part how-to be a memoirist, and part mystery about her own family secret:

“We take up the guitar and play what is commanded, or paint the painting, or throw the pot, or write the poem, or make meaning from our story of abandonment. The command gives us no choice; we cannot ask permission or wait on the decision of another party who might or might not grant us the time we need to create with dire urgency. To ignore the command is to turn away grace. To accept it is a profound act of humanity, no matter what it brings with it.”

I write because I have to. Writing is my best friend. It never abandons me. It keeps me company in my darkest nights. It helps me remember. It teaches me. It forces me to learn. It reveals myself to me in ways that change over time. And it also connects me to so many people, including all of you. Substack is such a great platform for those of us who love to write and love to read! I appreciate you. But I’m still going to wait till after I’m dead to publish my now autobiography because I won’t be done with it until the day I die. (It’s really, really, long.)

Too many of us were raised with too many secrets, and a silent oppression that threatened us to keep those secrets hidden. But the more I open up my self and share my stories, the more I realize that my secrets are often your secrets too. Bringing them to light is healing and cathartic. Shame transforms into acceptance. Anger runs itself out and veers towards forgiveness. And truth cultivates love.

So write. Write as if your life depends on it. Share it or not. Keep it or burn it. Leave it as a record, a documentation of a life, hopefully well-lived. Or send it out into the universe in the hope that it finds even just one person who gets something from what you have written.

You don’t need my permission. You don’t need anyone’s permission. All you need is to give yourself permission.