Why Your Story Matters (and How to Start Writing It Down)
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I recently led a group of writers through meditation. Once we became still and present, I asked: “What would happen if you didn’t write your story?”
Answers arose along the spectrum of heartbreak:
I’d be disappointed in myself;
My soul would feel wounded;
I’d feel like I missed my calling…
Whenever anyone is deeply compelled to write their story, the impetus often comes from a sacred and true place.
This should be enough evidence to prove that your story matters.
Even so, it’s easy to get tangled up in the need to justify your writing time.
Like caving to the pressure that you need to churn out a bestseller, sell the movie rights, or receive a high-level writing award — before you’ve even written a first draft. It’s no wonder so many writers suffer from such doubt. Writers dismiss their own efforts even before their story has a chance to get out into the world.
For so long (too long!), this Western colonial culture has favoured particular stories — hero’s journey stories (i.e., every Marvel movie), happily-ever-after triumph-of-(heterosexual)-romantic-love stories, or dominion-over-nature stories.
Narratives that implicitly say to the average viewer you’re not special enough. Stories that dismiss or diminish your anger, your grief, your connections, your joy, your body, your children, your sexuality, your creative genius, your voice, your humanness. Media that implies your story doesn’t matter.
I argue that writing your story not only matters — it’s a radical act. Whether you write fiction or memoir, when you write in your authentic voice — your heart-centered truth — you’re already challenging old, generalizing narratives.
Doesn’t that sound fun?
Listen, it’s easy for me to sit here and tell you your story matters, but what’s more important is that you believe it, too. Otherwise, you’ll get caught up in thinking of the end results and lose sight of your deeper intentions.
And I don’t want that for you. I don’t want your half-finished manuscript stuck in a drawer. Or for anyone to miss out on your unique voice.
So, take a moment to sit with your feet planted firmly on the ground. Place a hand on your heart. Close your eyes or keep your gaze soft (depending on what feels comfortable). And, if it feels okay to focus on your breath, do that for a minute or so. Otherwise just notice the connection of your feet on the ground.
Once you’re feeling settled and connected to your body, ask yourself: “Why is this story important for me to tell?”
Notice what arises. Maybe a word or an image, or maybe a silence. There’s no need to judge it — just notice.
Then, quietly move your pen to paper and start with this prompt: this story is important for me to write because…
Write for ten minutes, and don’t let your hand lift from the page. Don’t worry if reasons show up that seem trivial or absurd — don’t listen to your inner critic. Just keep going.
After your ten minutes are over, read what you’ve written aloud.
What resonates most with you? What feels most true?
There may be one thing you’ve written that jumps off the page at you. Maybe even all of what you’ve written! But distill it down to something you can fit on a sticky note and post to the wall above your computer (or inside the cover of your notebook).
This is your North Star. The reason your story matters.
Notice how knowing that feels in your body. Notice if it changes your commitment to writing your story.
If you find this exercise helpful, you’re welcome to return to it again and again. Sometimes our reasons for writing grow or change. Don’t be afraid to check in and re-anchor.
I like to think of writers I love, like Virginia Woolf. She wrote ground-breaking books during a period that told women they didn’t deserve to write. A period that dismissed the idea that women could become great masters of the craft. Over this past century, her books have been medicine for thousands and thousands of readers, including me. Now imagine if she’d stopped writing. Imagine if she’d never challenged the cultural conditioning that dared to suggest her stories didn’t matter.
So, please: write your story. It may be the exact medicine this crazy world needs.
Traci Skuce is a devoted writer and story midwife. Her own short story collection, Hunger Moon (NeWest Press, 2020), was recently shortlisted for the Kobo Emerging Writers’ Prize. She helps fiction and memoir writers birth and finish their stories so they can get their manuscripts out into the world. Interested? Here are 5 Ways to Unstick Your Story.
