Passion: The Golden Key to Writing Motivation
Why Writing About What You Love is a Must.
My grandad would say to me all the time, “Well, if you’re passionate about it, that’s good, it’ll make it far easier.” I understood him immediately, because he was right, it did make it easier.
Academic study was always easier when I loved the subject, and my self-employed work has always been easier when I’ve stuck to what I’m passionate about.
In this post, I want to briefly explore our relationship with writing motivation through the lens of passion. So without further ado, let’s get started.
The Value of Making Writing Choices Based on Passion
Writing is motivated by passion when it flows; it gets stuck when there’s a lack of passion. Without passion, it’s harder to start, harder to finish, harder to gain any sort of enthusiasm for the subject etc.
But there’s a problem — we all try to write. Note the word ‘try’. We store up innumerable ideas, and we think, “I’ll write about this, and this, and this.”But all too frequently we look at our long ideas lists and think, “There’s a lot of great ideas here, but I’m not feeling them today.”
My writing flows most when it is prompted by an idea, but when it remains very spontaneous. I have thought of associated posts to this one in the past, but today I just decided, “I want to write a post about passion.” I didn’t plan this post — it is being planned and created as I write, with passion as its fuel of choice.
- Write with 75% passion, 25% structure
We all need some structure. Right now, I am considering the layout of this post and my writing style. But these are more technical points of structure. A unification of spontaneous passionate writing with some technical or layout constraints works brilliantly.
For those of you who know Zen, this perfect match will come as no surprise. The Buddhists truly have a wonderful sense of clarity when it comes to balancing constraints with spontaneity.
If you adopt this heightening of passion, slightly lowering the position of planning, you will see that words flow far more easily. But what’s the real secret to this technique?
The Secret of Easy Writing
As alluded to, the secret is to write what you are passionate about in that moment, on that day. Don’t worry too much about the passion burning out. There are two easy ways to ensure this doesn’t happen.
1. Before writing, make sure your passion is genuine and mixed with a strong sense of enthusiasm.
2. Give yourself a limit. Don’t write and write…you will surely lose the passion after X minutes of writing. Instead, have a rough idea of the length of the piece; you’ll find that you become passionate about the completion of the piece.
The main thing is spontaneity and passion. Keep these two in mind, and if you really do need to stop writing, having lost passion, perhaps that topic or idea wasn’t quite passionate enough for you on that particular day. This doesn’t mean to say you scrap the idea, because you may rewrite or continue that post another day when your passion is higher.
So there we go, that’s my brief exploration of passion as a motivational tool for writing. I hope you enjoyed this post — I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below: Do you write with passion? If so, how does it help with your motivation? And if not, what tools do you use to keep yourself motivated?
Thank you for reading,
Adz
About the Creator
Adz Robinson
Poet, short story writer, and aspiring essayist with a passion for anything spiritual, psychological, and surreal.
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Silent Struggle
No one noticed the moment his life began to feel heavy. There was no single disaster, no dramatic fall. Everything happened slowly—quietly—like dust settling on furniture no one cared to clean. From the outside, his life looked normal. He woke up, went to work, smiled when needed, and returned home exhausted. But inside, a silent struggle was growing every single day. His name was Hamza. Hamza used to believe effort was always rewarded. As a child, he was told that if you worked hard, life would eventually open its doors for you. For a long time, he held onto that belief. He studied late into the night, sacrificed weekends, and stayed disciplined when others took shortcuts. But as years passed, reality felt cruelly different. People with less effort moved ahead. Opportunities passed him by. Promises turned into excuses. At work, Hamza was dependable—but invisible. When projects succeeded, others were praised. When mistakes happened, eyes quietly turned toward him. He never complained. He didn’t want to be seen as weak or ungrateful. Instead, he stayed silent. That silence slowly became his habit. At home, expectations followed him like a shadow. Everyone assumed he was “doing fine” because he never spoke about his struggles. Friends stopped asking how he was. Conversations became shallow. No one knew how many nights he lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if something was wrong with him. The hardest part wasn’t failure. It was feeling unseen. One night, after another exhausting day, Hamza sat alone in his room. The city outside was loud, full of people chasing dreams, celebrating small wins, living loudly. Inside his room, everything felt still. He picked up his phone and scrolled through social media. Success stories. Smiling faces. Motivational quotes. Each post felt like a reminder of how far behind he was. His chest tightened. A thought crept into his mind—soft, dangerous, and persistent. “Maybe I’m not meant for more.” That thought scared him. Not because it hurt—but because it felt believable. For the first time, Hamza considered giving up. Not dramatically. Not by quitting everything. Just… stopping the effort. Doing the bare minimum. Accepting an ordinary life without expectations. No one would notice anyway. But something held him back. It wasn’t hope. It wasn’t motivation. It was stubbornness. A quiet refusal to completely let go. The next morning, nothing changed externally. The same routine. The same people. The same silence. But inside Hamza made a small decision: “I’ll keep going—even if nothing changes.” He stopped waiting for encouragement. He stopped seeking validation. He focused only on improving himself, one small step at a time. He learned after work when others relaxed. He practiced skills no one asked him to learn. He failed quietly and corrected himself without announcing it. Some days, he felt strong. Most days, he felt tired. But he showed up anyway. Weeks turned into months. There were still no rewards. No applause. No sudden success. But something subtle was happening—something Hamza didn’t notice at first. He was becoming resilient. Things that once broke his confidence no longer shook him as much. Rejection still hurt, but it didn’t stop him. Criticism no longer crushed him; it taught him. Silence, once painful, became his training ground. One evening, a major issue arose at his workplace. A complicated problem that others avoided because failure would be visible. Managers were tense. Deadlines were tight. Blame was already being prepared. Hamza didn’t speak up immediately. He simply started working. He stayed late. He researched. He tested ideas. He made mistakes and fixed them. There were moments he doubted himself. Moments when fear whispered, “You’re not good enough for this.” But he answered back with action. Days later, the problem was solved—not perfectly, but effectively. This time, people noticed. Not with applause. Not with excitement. 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If you are struggling silently today, know this: You are not behind. You are not invisible. You are not weak. You are being prepared. And one day, without warning, life will notice. Final Line (Powerful Ending): The strongest people are often the ones no one sees fighting—but they keep going anyway.
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