Why I Write (and Keep Writing)

Writing is like falling in love. It’s thrilling, unpredictable, and sometimes leaves you questioning every single decision you’ve ever made. But when it’s good—when the words flow effortlessly, when the story feels alive—it’s like the perfect first kiss: intoxicating and unforgettable. Why do I write? Because I crave those moments. And because, like love, even when it’s messy, writing is always worth it.

The Roots of a Storyteller

Growing up in Montreal, I lived in a house crammed with books. My parents, lovers of language, didn’t believe in television as a babysitter—instead, they handed me stacks of novels like they were sacred scrolls. I remember summer afternoons stretched across our tiny balcony, reading Gabrielle Roy’s Bonheur d’occasion while the hum of the Plateau buzzed below. Stories were everywhere: in the way our neighbor recounted her tabby cat’s escapades or in the graffiti on the old brick walls near my school.

But it wasn’t until an exchange semester in Paris that I truly understood the magic of storytelling. Picture this: a crêpe in hand, sitting along the Seine, scribbling elfish poetry about a waiter who didn’t return my smile (it’s fine, I’ve moved on). I realized writing wasn’t just a hobby; it was how I made sense of the world, one painfully cringy metaphor at a time.

Writing is Like Dating (Yes, Really)

If you’ve ever written even a two-sentence email, you’ve probably encountered the agony of finding the perfect words. Add in plotlines, characters, and emotional baggage, and writing begins to look a lot like... dating.

  1. The "Will They, Won’t They" Stage
    Every story starts with a spark. Maybe it’s a sudden idea whispered in your brain as you’re brushing your teeth, or maybe it’s a concept you’ve been obsessing over like it’s Timothée Chalamet’s Instagram posts. Either way, the beginning is pure adrenaline. You’re thinking, This could be amazing! This could change my life! Spoiler alert: many times, it won’t. But hey, that’s how you build character.

  2. The Self-Doubt Spiral
    Somewhere around Chapter 3—or Date 3, for that matter—self-doubt creeps in like an uninvited party guest. Is this working? Am I even good at this? Why does this feel harder than it should? Writing—like relationships—requires showing up even when you want to hide under the covers. Perseverance, my friends, is key.

  3. Falling in Love with the Mess
    Here’s what no one tells you: the mess is part of the magic. When I was translating manuscripts early in my career, I learned something crucial: even revered authors use too many adverbs. Nobody’s first draft (or first date) is perfect. You overthink, over-share, and underperform at some point. But leaning into that imperfection is where the joy lives.

Lessons Learned from the Blank Page

Writing isn’t just something I do—it’s who I am. And just like every failed romance, every creative misstep leaves me better prepared for what’s next. Here’s what putting pen to paper has taught me about life (and no, it’s not how to properly conjugate avoir):

  • It All Comes Down to Vulnerability
    Writing demands that you show your most awkward, honest, unfiltered self. I once drafted an entire short story about the heartbreak of sending a text and receiving the dreaded “...” bubbles without a response (if that’s not emotional trauma, I don’t know what is). The more I leaned into that vulnerability, the more people connected with my work. Similarly, the best relationships allow you to be unedited—typos, bad jokes, and all.

  • Consistency Beats Inspiration
    Inspiration? Overrated. Truth be told, most great writing comes not from divine flashes of brilliance, but from sitting your butt down and doing the work—even when you don’t feel like it. It’s the same reason relationships thrive on small, consistent acts of love (e.g., making coffee at 7 a.m.) instead of grand gestures à la rom-coms.

  • Failure is Data, Not Defeat
    My first novel? Rejected by seven publishers before someone finally said, “Yeah, okay.” And even then, the reviews weren’t glowing. But here’s the thing: failure isn’t fatal. It’s feedback. My next project was better because of those stumbles. Whether it’s writing or life, rejection isn’t the end—it’s a roadmap.

The Stories That Connect Us

I write because it’s how I connect—not just with others, but with myself. Whether it’s a random journal entry about the barista I’m half in love with or an essay like this one, writing forces me to slow down and actually observe the world around me.

And the truth is, stories connect us all. Think about it: how many first dates revolve around “What’s your story?” Sharing tales—whether funny, sad, or outright embarrassing—is how we build bridges. It’s how we say, Hey, I’m human too.

Why I’ll Never Stop

I’ll be honest: Writing isn’t glamorous. Most of it happens in pajama pants with bad French pop songs playing in the background. But giving up? Not an option. Because every time I finish a piece—whether it’s a heartfelt article or a short story inspired by my Montreal roots—I remember why I started.

I write to untangle my feelings, to capture fleeting moments, and, most importantly, to remind myself that every blank page is an opportunity. An opportunity to explore, to create, and to connect. Much like love, writing is a messy, beautiful, endlessly rewarding act of hope.

So here’s my message to you: find your thing. It doesn’t have to be writing (it can be baking elaborate éclairs, collecting houseplants with progressively exotic names, or dancing terribly to ABBA in your living room). Whatever it is, let it light you up. Let it push you to grow. And most of all, keep doing it, even when it feels hard.

Because one day, you’ll look back and realize it wasn’t about perfection. It was about showing up, flaws and all—and that’s where the magic happens.