Reader,

"Purpose" is a tricky word.

Each and every one of us needs to feel a sense of purpose. It's what gets us out of bed in the morning, even when the alarm goes off earlier than we'd like and we find ourselves practicing smiles to flash at the bully who signs our paychecks. This need isn't just an existential question. We desperately want to feel like the activities we give our time to are actively engaging who we really are. We don't want to be loved simply for the things we do for other people. We want people to love and delight in the parts of us that we find most precious.

Heavy, eh? Well, that's the baggage we bring when we ask ourselves, "Why am I writing this book?"

I said that purpose is a tricky word because, speaking solely for myself, it often feels like my primary reasons for writing a book ought to be utilitarian and practical. Things like, "Writing a book will grow my business." "Writing a book will keep my skills fresh so I keep up in my competitive market." "Writing a book is an investment that will pay dividends once I get on the right podcasts and the right stages."

All of those reasons can be true, and none of them are bad. With apologies to my teenage self, who couldn't imagine a worse fate than "selling out," a book is a tool. It can grow your career. It can grow your audience and win you new connections. It can deliver a powerful ROI, even if you never come close to the New York Times bestseller list.

But in my experience, none of these reasons are powerful enough to satisfy our craving for purpose. They fail to connect with the two people that actually matter when it comes to a book: the author and the reader.

When I work with clients, I often ask them to answer two questions that at first look the same:

• Why do you need to write this book?
• Why do you need to write this book?

The first question might make you feel uncomfortable. Put more starkly, it's, "Why should you and not someone else be writing this book?" This is where your inner critic jumps in to fearfully remind you that someone is more qualified, someone else has a better story, someone else writes better prose, etc. If you can't press through these blurts and confidently declare why YOU ARE the person that needs to write this book, you're book simply won't get written.

That's where the second question comes in. We write books because something burns within us that refuses to be ignored. We write books because no one else is saying what we know needs to be said. We write books about the things that make us angry. About the things that make us scared. About the things that seem so obvious to us and yet profoundly surprising to others. About the things that have caught our eye and refuse to be forgotten.

Do you know what all of those things have in common? They reveal what delights us.

When I go on a rant about Steven Pressfield and The War of Art, my anger points to something I'm trying to protect: namely, my unwavering belief that writing can and ought to be fun.

When I talk about the uncertainty that surrounds my current book project, my fear reveals my hope: to write a book that people love just as much as I love the books that have fueled me.

When I write about the cottonwood trees behind my childhood home and the teenage angst I felt as I stared at them every night, I'm showing the teenage boy still within me that he is not alone.

When I write about driving in comfortable silence with my grandfather through a fall British Columbia landscape, I'm painting a picture of the kind of love I hold most dear: one in which I intrinsically know that I am loved and valued without having to prove that I'm worthy of it.

Those are my examples. Yours are likely different and yet also the same. Because we don't write about things we don't care about.

My purpose for writing The Thrill of Writing is to put my love for this work on full display. Do I hope it sells a bunch of copies? Yes, I do. Do I hope y'all read it and write me to say, "Wow, this is good!" Of course. But that's not why I'm writing. Those outcomes, if they happen, are mere icing on the cake.

I'm writing this book because I simply must tell the world why I believe writing is thrilling and why I think they should believe it too.

I know that some of you are writing alongside me. If you choose to pick up these questions and explore what delight YOU are chasing as you write, tell me what you discover. It's good to be journeying together through this process.

Next week we're going to talk about shitty first drafts. And if all goes well, I'll have a shitty first draft for you to peek at.

Keep your stick on the ice.

Frank Ewert
Writer, Editor, Book Coach, and Unrepentant Emo Boy
Author of Embrace Your Writer's Block and Blue Ice​