An Amateur Writer’s Coming Out Story

For the longest time, I've seen little appeal in writing in public. I write for myself. To share felt like commodifying myself. It felt akin to prostitution.

But over the past few weeks, I’ve changed my mind. This post will outline the many reasons why I've been averse to writing for an audience and why I'm now warming up to it. These reasons may be personal to me, but I believe -- and hope -- they could still encourage other shy writers to reach a similar conclusion.

Writing has always been an intimate act, a solitary dance between my thoughts and the paper. The idea of writing for an audience felt like a form of prostitution—offering intimate parts of myself for public consumption and critique. This perception stoked my reluctance to write for public eyes. I couldn't quite get past this.

I remember, 2 years ago, holding the Republic in my hand and feeling a surge of emotion. Someone from millenia ago is communicating with me now. That was a powerful moment, truly grappling with the power of books. Until that point, I considered the idea of leaving a legacy as corny, but in the quiet company of this ancient text, I experienced a change of heart. I recognized the prospect of achieving a form of immortality - a 'cheat code' to the human condition - through this. And suddenly, the idea of leaving my own legacy became attractive. While art, music, and community service can all leave enduring footprints, writing struck me as a uniquely intimate and appropriate medium. That was when I resolved to write a book of poetry or fiction.

Despite this newfound aspiration, I still held an aversion to writing for an audience. It seemed like a paradox to my revelation. Why write if not to be read? For a long time, I never truly delved into resolving this issue. I simply hoped that one day I would wake up with a desire to publish. 

I believe joining Twitter a month ago significantly shifted both my perspective on public writing and my previous views on immortality. Despite the noise there, it was astounding to witness a buzzing global intellectual community. Seeing the power of an online community made me realize the accessibility and potential of engaging with people worldwide who share similar interests and goals. 

Lurking the Twittersphere led me to this question -  what real difference is there between inter-temporal and inter-spatial communication? Wouldn’t it be more impactful to engage with contemporaries, sharing and shaping ideas in the present?

The appeal in immortality, I realized, actually had less to do with evading total death. It had more to do with having an enduring impact or influence without physical continuity. The traditional definition of immortality implies an infinite continuation of existence through time, but my interpretation deviated slightly—it didn't necessarily involve a temporal component. This was not about simply surviving through time, but more about transcending it. 

And as my perspective evolved, so did my perception of the audience. Witnessing how people engaged with each other’s thoughts on Twitter helped me stop viewing an audience as mere consumers and start seeing them as guests in my home.  An invitation to one’s home is not meant to be an invitation to a performance; it is meant to be an intimate, safe place where you can make your guests feel welcome. By sharing more of myself through my writing, I was not commodifying myself but instead forging connections. It was an invitation to dialogue.

I started warming up to the idea of writing in public, but then came the obstacle of originality. This has discouraged me from creating a blog for the longest time. I believed that I had nothing meaningful or unique to add to the conversation. And while I may still believe this, this is irrelevant. I consider my first blogpost as mostly a regurgitation of the podcast episode I reviewed. But, I published it anyway. I recently came across Rohit Krishnan and Jim O'Shaughnessy- and his podcast, Infinite Loops, both of which are incredible gems. When I mentioned them within my social circles, I found that, despite having similar intellectual interests, many people were not familiar with them. This served as a reminder that I could play the role of messenger.

Yes, many topics have already been written about, spoken about, and communicated countless times. But those people likely don't have the same audience as me. I can deliver to my unique audience in ways that others, regardless of how influential they appear, might not reach.

An easier approach might be to simply recommend others to check them out. But I suspect this is inefficient and has a low success rate. I receive a slew of links from people all the time, but there’s often a high activation energy to sift through everything, especially if I’m not already deeply interested in the subject. Whereas, if someone were to do the ‘heavy-lifting’, sifting through papers, substacks, podcasts, books, Twitter threads, etc., and package and deliver it straight to my door, I’m more likely to give it a go. This has the potential to spark interest where there was none, and cultivate curiosity in unexpected areas. In a sense, this feels like intellectual advertising.

When I stumble upon an intriguing book or paper, my enthusiasm often falls on uninterested ears-- and my dad is usually on the receiving end of this torture. It's challenging to find engagement on niche topics within my immediate social circle. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have someone passionate about cosmology to talk to when you come across a new cosmological model?

Writing provides an opportunity to connect with the right audience. If not for people's substacks or tweets, I might never have known about their similar interests. These writing mediums have allowed me to form new friendships, and who knows where these connections may lead. It does require time on my part, but by writing about my thoughts and putting myself out there, I increase the chances of reaching people I'd like to connect with. How else would people know if I'm merely a lurker online? 

It's still terrifying to write online. I fear context collapse and won't deny my fear towards criticism from random strangers. Yet, as someone who loves writing and uses it to understand myself and the world better, it seems foolish to let these fears prevent me from engaging, especially when the potential benefits appear much greater. So here I am, taking a daunting plunge, hoping to land in the right place among the right people.

P.S. Massive shoutout to Andrew Rose, who provided the final push for me to publish.

P.P.S. This is not sponsored by Twitter.