Is my writing serving others? (Could it? Should it?)

This question has been following me for some time. I would’ve written about it sooner, but I hadn’t found the right way to articulate the idea - at least not in a way that satisfied me. In the meantime, Wördel kept me occupied, which, in hindsight, turned out to be quite expedient. Not only did it keep me from spewing junk onto the blockchain, but it also gave my ideas the necessary time to ferment.

In response to one of Chriddi’s central questions - Do you believe that you, as an individual, can help keep interest in this platform alive? - I wrote:
“I don’t know. I write for myself and don’t really care if others like it or not…”

That reply was honest, but uncertain. Chriddi’s response, on the other hand, was confident and incisive. It made me happy - not because I’m biased in her favor, but because her perspective is grounded in long-standing experience, and that experience has consistently proved reliable. Her reply was straightforward: You keep the platform alive with your thoughtful, funny interactions that make it a very welcoming place - not just through posting alone.

She calmly and logically addressed my point, almost effortlessly, and made a better case than I ever could.

But the part that really shifted my thinking came when I questioned whether one should write for oneself or for others. Chriddi responded by thoughtfully restructuring the entire premise:
“Whether you write for yourself or for others is pretty irrelevant - the moment you release it for public reading, it's essentially for others.”

And I get it, however, when I revisited what I had written, the phrase “I write for myself” made me wince. It felt like swallowing something with a bitter aftertaste. I realised that what I was really saying was, “I don’t care whether you connect with this or not; I’m writing for me, not you.” Though it’s honest, it felt a little too egoistic.

This brings me to a point C.S. Lewis makes in his essay An Experiment in Criticism. Lewis highlights how, for a critic (reader) determined to find deeper meanings, any text can be turned into a symbol or irony or ambiguity, which ultimately impedes complete immersion and 'tasting' of the art itself. As he wrote: "We are so busy doing things with the work that we give it too little chance to work on us. Thus, increasingly, we meet only ourselves.”

Since reading and writing, for me, are inextricably linked, I believe this applies not only to how we engage with art but also to how we create it. Just as we shouldn’t consume art solely for what it can do for us, we shouldn’t create it only for how it makes us feel or look. The purpose of the craft, then, is to enter into a shared experience - writing because it means something to us, because it moves us, and because we have something to offer, not just because it serves a personal or practical function.

Of course, one can (or should) write in whatever way they feel compelled to express themselves. I’m not judging that. What I’m critiquing is my recent tendency to write more out of ego than empathy, which, in effect, 'puts the writer first and the reader last.'

This is a blogging platform: at its core, it’s about readers and writers. Each depends on the other. If we’re always wrapped up in ourselves, we risk alienating serious readers who are just as invested as we are, or anyone simply looking to relax with wholesome content.

Writing only for myself feels liberating - no pressure, no concern for what the world thinks. But in the end, I’m just having a conversation with myself, pacing back and forth in my own mental space, never reaching out, never shaping the words so someone else might even faintly resonate. ‘Zum Ekel find’ ich immer nur mich.’ To my disgust, I always find only myself.

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