September Theme: The Stories We Carry
Big Question: Why do certain stories stay with us?
Week 3: The Stories We Tell Ourselves
Thanks for joining this week’s dialogue about the stories we tell ourselves!
I’m glad you’ve joined us for this week’s dialogue. We have a lot to unpack and plenty to discuss as we continue to explore The Stories We Tell Ourselves.
This month, we’ve been writing Drafts, reading Books, and engaging in Dialogues to discover and understand as much as we can when answering one big question: Why do certain stories stay with us? Which, so far, has only surfaced more questions worth unpacking.
Last week we took a deep dive into The Art of Autofiction, as we discussed Memory and Storytelling over the course of the week, which revealed some interesting insights on how an increasing number of writers are choosing to walk the line between fact and fiction as they write about themselves and their lives in today’s always-on online world. And the week before that we asked ourselves: Can a book genuinely change who we are?, ultimately deciding that it can, albeit with a few conditions, which prompted us to delve into The Anatomy of Books That Have Changed Us.
This week, I want to keep moving our conversation forward by asking a question that many writers likely struggle with at some point as they continue to navigate both conscious and sometimes invisible boundaries that shape their work.
Many of us know that our beliefs often work behind the scenes shaping the narratives we construct about our personal histories, the people around us, and the world we live in. But how often do we actively challenge those beliefs in our writing, assuming we’re aware of them when they surface in our writing or as we’re writing? And how often do we ask ourselves whether challenging, not necessarily changing, those beliefs is to the integrity and longevity of our work and whether that work is ultimately regarded as ‘great’?
Today’s dialogue question requires a deeper level of intentional self-reflection, as it prompts us to navigate uncomfortable terrain and radical honesty with ourselves as we consider those beliefs that truly influence what we write and why. It also forces us to explore whether those beliefs ultimately align with our ‘great writing’ ideals and aspirations, which won’t necessarily be easy to deconstruct let alone face head-on. Nevertheless, here we are, curious and eager to better understand what makes us and our writing tick so that we can intentionally write what we want, how we want, when we want, and why we want. Which should yield its own reward, I hope.
As you consider the information in the responses to the dialogue drafted below, please encourage yourself to keep an open mind and adopt an attitude of radical yet compassionate self-honesty. And remember that today’s question is intended to meet you exactly where you are in your writing journey so that you can continue to imagine and pursue the creative lifestyle that is best for you and what you need and want to create.
Regardless of what your initial answer or instinct is when responding to today’s question, I hope it spurs some much-needed reflection and discussion regarding the stories we tell ourselves and how they’re connected to our deeply held and sometimes unconsciously adopted beliefs.
Participate in today’s poll, then take a moment to consider today’s question and the different responses to it drafted below. Then let us know more about what you think in this month’s Dialoguers Chat as you continue to reflect. As always, remember that there are no strict ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ answers, only those answers that will help us more authentically navigate this dialogue and ourselves as creators and writers.
Cast your vote, then keep reading. You may find yourself agreeing with one answer at first then questioning it at the end, as you continue to engage in reflection and dialogue.
Drafting this Dialogue: Great Writing and Our Beliefs
Yes. Great writing is about your skills.
This perspective invites us to consider writing as a craft that can be strengthened through practice, technique, discipline, and focused attention on what the reader will be encountering on the page.
From this view, a writer doesn’t necessarily need to question their deeply held beliefs in order to produce meaningful or powerful work because their strong command of language, structure, characterization, pacing, research, and revision can allow them to communicate their ideas and feelings effectively, even (or especially) when those ideas and feelings remain consistent with what they already believe. Indeed, from this viewpoint, having a clear perspective and conviction in their beliefs might give a writer the confidence and sense of purpose they need in order to produce ‘great work’.
At the same time, this perspective raises an interesting question about what we mean by ‘great writing’ in general. If great writing is primarily about technical skills and a writer’s ability to execute a well-crafted story, perhaps challenging their beliefs could be helpful in some instances but isn’t necessarily essential to their overall writing process or output. In other words, a writer can become more skilled at writing and producing ‘great’ work without questioning or altering what they think or believe.
This view fundamentally recognizes writing as a discipline and understands that disciplines often depend on developing reliable, repeatable skills and techniques rather than constantly questioning the foundations beneath those skills and techniques or what they can and do regularly produce.
If you agree with this answer, you will probably also agree with one or more of the following statements:
A writer can continually improve their craft and what they write without fundamentally changing their beliefs or worldview.
“Writing is my craft. I honor it deeply.” — Ursula K. Le Guin
Strong writing skills can allow a writer to communicate familiar ideas in ways that feel fresh and meaningful to readers, which is fundamental to great writing.
Discipline and revision can sometimes produce greater growth in writing than questioning every belief behind the work.
“To write honestly and with all our powers is the least we can do, and the most.” — Eudora Welty
A writer’s established perspective can provide a valuable foundation from which to explore ideas without needing to abandon that foundation.
Readers can find new meaning in a piece of writing even when the writer themselves has not undergone a significant personal transformation while working on it.
“The habit of art is a quality of the mind.” — Flannery O’Connor (paraphrased)
To engage in further dialogue, ask:
Can a writer’s craft continue to deepen and improve even when the writer’s beliefs remain relatively unchanged?
What role does technical skill play in making readers think or feel differently?
Could constantly questioning your beliefs make it harder to develop a clear and confident voice?
Can a piece of writing challenge a reader even when its writer is not personally challenged by the piece’s subject or content?
At what point does strong craftsmanship become something more than technical ability and begin to create personal or cultural change?
No. If you don’t change, readers can’t.
This perspective sees writing as an act that facilitates meaningful encounters with ourselves, as well as with our readers. And understands that it’s those meaningful encounters with ourselves via writing that essentially make a work ‘great’ for our readers.
When we write about something that matters to us, enough to write about it in the first place, we inevitably bring our assumptions, experiences, fears, values, and contradictions to the page. Yet the act of writing itself requires us to investigate, question, scrutinize, edit, and eventually challenge those things we bring to the page, pushing us to do much more than simply state what we already know and believe as a result. At least, if we’re allowing ourselves to write authentically, honestly, and creatively.
Writing, according to this viewpoint, is a perpetual oscillation and exploration between our craft and our inner selves, which often leads us somewhere unexpected and allows our writing to become a more meaningful and honest representation of what we think we know, feel, and believe, rather than merely an explanation of our already assumed or established positions.
From this perspective, the writer’s willingness to be changed or challenge their own assumptions becomes part of what makes the work engaging, relatable, and therefore meaningful or ‘great’.
Readers don’t necessarily need to agree with the writer either, as they’ll be able to recognize and empathize with someone who is honestly and authentically wrestling with a difficult question or relatable human concern. And when a writer exposes and relays that struggle rather than trying to hide it or write around it, readers are afforded an opportunity to examine and challenge their own assumptions, as well. The writing, then, becomes less about delivering a straightforward palatable conclusion and more about creating an experience in which both writer and reader have something meaningful to examine.
If you agree with this answer, you will probably also agree with one or more of the following statements:
A writer doesn’t necessarily need to change one of their beliefs when they’re done writing something ‘great’, because honestly examining that belief can be transformative in itself.
“Writing is really a way of thinking, not just feeling but thinking about things that are disparate, unresolved, mysterious, problematic or just sweet.” — Toni Morrison
Challenging our assumptions via writing can reveal possibilities that would remain invisible if we only wrote about what we already know (or think we know).
“No art ever came out of not risking your neck.” — Eudora Welty
A writer’s willingness to confront uncertainty can make their work feel more honest and emotionally credible.
“The imagination recombines, remakes... makes a new world, makes the world new.” — Ursula K. Le Guin
Writing can become a form of discovery in which a writer learns something they didn’t already know before they sat down to write.
Readers tend to engage more deeply with a written work when they can sense that its writer has something personal at stake to explore in it.
To engage in further dialogue, ask:
Does a writer have to change personally first, in order for their writing to change a reader?
Can challenging a deeply held belief strengthen that belief rather than replace it?
What might readers miss when a writer is unwilling to expose uncertainty or contradiction?
Is authenticity possible when a writer never allows their own writing process to unsettle or expose them?
What kinds of personal or intellectual risks, or technical skills, make a piece of writing feel genuinely alive?
My Reflection and an Invitation
I find myself leaning heavily toward the second response because I believe great writing, as well as the act of writing in general, compels us to challenge ourselves and explore what we believe. I also think that struggle is where authenticity lies, as well as what’s worth writing about in the first place. Without that struggle (what I also like to refer to as a crucial part of the writing process) readers will probably just passively consume our writing rather than engage with it or reflect on it. Which isn’t bad per se, but not necessarily what ‘great writing’ that stands the test of time elicits and encourages. Great writing, to me anyway, creates an experience in which something is at stake for both the writer and reader, and ultimately prompts further reflection, dialogue, and exploration for all engaged parties as a result.
Writing continually challenges me to examine what I think, what I feel, what I assume, and ultimately what I believe. Otherwise, I’d find it a lot less interesting and meaningful, even quite pointless and boring, if I’m being honest.
Most of the time I discover that my original beliefs still hold as I write, though the process of examining them and challenging them is rewarding and enlightening, and can even feel liberating and reaffirming in a lot of ways. But sometimes examining my beliefs can become more complicated, especially when such examinations lead me to alter a belief or strong feeling I once had.
Still, I’ve also come to realize that the difficult pieces of writing that those complicated examinations yield tend to not only receive the most engagement from readers but make me genuinely feel like I’m being my most authentic self as a writer, and human, which is its own reward. And I genuinely mean that. Whether those pieces of writing are ‘great’... well, that will all be decided in time, I suppose. Regardless, what’s important to me is that I stay open to what the process of writing reveals to me about myself, the world, and others, and that I don’t simply write to blindly or impulsively confirm or report what I already know (or think I already know).
Of course, technical writing skills absolutely matter! They give us the tools to clearly articulate what we encounter along the way as we write and live. But technical writing skills alone can’t determine what we discover, or what’s worth discovering. In fact, if we’re only focused on our technical skills, we may never be able to open ourselves up to discovering anything at all about ourselves or the world surrounding us via the writing process.
In essence, writing itself challenges us and what we believe through every technical choice we make as we write. Every question those technical choices compel us to ask, every plot or character those choices allow us to develop and understand, every argument they allow us to construct and navigate, every uncomfortable feeling they force us to confront as we draft and revise our words on the page, challenge us to explore and or reaffirm what we believe, what we write, how we write, and why we write. Which is also where I think deeper engagement with written works begins.
When writers are willing to wrestle with their own beliefs and how and why they write about them, readers are given permission to wrestle with theirs too. The goal of any writing process shouldn’t necessarily be for the writer to convince the reader of anything, or for the reader to reach the same conclusion as the writer. The goal should be to create something that makes both parties pause, question, feel, reconsider, reflect, and perhaps see themselves or the world around them differently, or at least in a more interesting and complexly beautiful way. At least, if what we’re striving for is ‘great writing’ that is meaningful and enduring.
Now that we’ve started the dialogue here, I want to hear more about what you think in the Dialoguers Chat!
You don’t have to fully commit to either response when you join this dialogue, just let us know whatever thoughts and feelings arise as you contemplate today’s question, and use that to spur further discussion. There are no strict ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ answers here, just those authentic responses that will help us further explore this topic together.
Thanks again for being here and exploring this topic with us as we continue to discuss the stories we tell ourselves this week.
I hope to see you in the chat replies soon!
Continue Exploring September’s Theme, The Stories We Carry
This Week: The Stories We Tell Ourselves
Writing Prompts that Navigate the Stories We Tell Ourselves
Week 2: Memory and Storytelling
Writing Prompts About Memory and Storytelling
The Art of Autofiction: Memory, Markets, and the Modern Confessional
ICYM Week 1 Posts: The Books That Changed Us
Writing Prompts About Books That Changed Us
Can a book genuinely change who we are?
What My Favorite Books Say About Me
The Anatomy of Books That Have Changed Us
20 Banned Books That Have Changed Us
Go Deeper with Daily Drafters Exclusives
This month: The Stories We Carry Writing Collection
This collection offers a month of guided writing exercises, mini workshops, and creative writing experiments designed to take you beyond a single prompt and into a deeper creative practice. It gives you the creative spark and space you need to explore memory, identity, inheritance, perspective, voice, and the stories we tell ourselves and others. It will also encourage you to consider how those stories shape the work we create and the creative lives we lead.
Inside this collection, you’ll find 30 original writing prompts (designed as mini writing workshops) across five sections with focused themes, craft-focused exercises, curated reading suggestions, reflective questions, and three optional month-long writing challenges designed to help you develop your ideas, explore your personal material and stories, and build a consistent writing practice.
You can follow the prompts in order, choose the exercises that speak to you, or return to a section whenever you need a new way to explore your writing craft. As a paid subscriber, you will also be able to come back to the collection throughout the month or any other time you feel like exploring The Stories We Carry in the future.