Why I Write (Even When No One’s Reading)

If you’ve been writing on Vocal for more than five minutes, you’ve probably felt it.

You publish a piece you genuinely care about. You refresh the page. Once. Twice. Maybe ten times.

Twelve views. Three likes. One of them is your mum. One might be a bot.

Cue the existential crisis.

What’s the point of this?

Why am I bothering?

Should I just take up woodworking like a normal adult?

I’ve been there. I still visit occasionally. But over time, I’ve realised something important:

I don’t write because I have readers.

I write because I’m a writer.

And that distinction matters more than it first appears.

Writing Isn’t Output — It’s Excavation

Most of what lives in my head is unrefined ore.

Thoughts, instincts, half-formed opinions, emotional reactions — all rattling around without structure. Writing is the tool I use to dig through that mess and figure out what I actually think.

I don’t just write to express my values.

I write to discover them.

Writing forces clarity. It exposes contradictions. It doesn’t let me hide behind vibes, generalisations, or “I just feel like…” arguments. When something looks good in my head but collapses on the page, I know I’m not done thinking yet.

That process alone is worth the effort.

Even if nobody else ever reads a single word.

I Publish Because the Work Is Finished — Not Because I Expect Applause

Writing and publishing are two different acts, and confusing them causes a lot of unnecessary suffering.

Writing is the work.

Publishing is letting go.

Once a piece is finished, I publish it because it deserves to exist outside of me. Not because I expect validation. Not because I think it will “perform well.” Simply because it’s done.

Whether it gets read is no longer my concern.

That might sound like emotional detachment, but it’s actually emotional self-preservation. I can control the effort, the honesty, and the craftsmanship. I cannot control algorithms, attention spans, or whether someone chose to scroll instead of click.

Obsessing over outcomes you don’t control is a fast track to burnout.

A Quiet Nod to the Stoics

There’s an old Stoic idea that’s served me well:

Focus on what’s up to you. Release attachment to the rest.

The quality of your writing? Up to you.

The discipline to show up and improve? Up to you.

The courage to tell the truth as you see it? Up to you.

Views? Likes? Shares? Timing? The mood of the internet on a Tuesday afternoon?

Absolutely not up to you.

So I aim to do the work properly. I try to write to the height of my current ability — not perfectly, just honestly and attentively. Once that’s done, I take my hands off it and move on.

The work stands. I don’t hover over it like a nervous parent at a school play.

“Okay, But I’d Still Like People to Read My Stuff”

Same.

Detachment doesn’t mean indifference. It just means not tying your self-worth to metrics. If you want more out of Vocal, the most effective thing you can do isn’t louder self-promotion — it’s participation.

Read other writers. Properly.

Leave comments that show you actually engaged with the piece. Not “great work,” not a fire emoji — thoughts. Questions. Disagreements, even.

This does two things:

1. It sharpens your own thinking and writing.
2. It opens genuine conversations.

Over time, names become familiar. Trust builds. People click through because they’re curious about you, not because you spammed a link.

The same principle applies to social spaces. Groups, comment threads, writing circles — these aren’t marketplaces. They’re rooms. Show up like a human, not a billboard.

There Are Still No Guarantees

You can do everything “right” and still write into relative obscurity.

That’s not a personal failure. It’s the reality of creative work in a crowded world. The mistake is believing that readership is what gives writing its legitimacy.

It isn’t.

The legitimacy comes from the act itself — from sitting down, thinking deeply, telling the truth as best you can, and crafting something with care.

Everything else is weather.

So Why Do I Write?

I write because it sharpens me.

I publish because the work deserves to stand on its own.

I connect where I can, then let go.

If you’re writing on Vocal and feeling unseen, ask yourself something better than “Why isn’t this getting reads?”

Ask:

What is this teaching me?

Am I being honest?

Am I proud of the work, regardless of the numbers?

If the answer is yes, you’re already doing the part that matters most.

The rest is just noise.

Thankyou so much for reading! If you liked it, like it ❤️ and if you feel like it, drop a follow. I’m always writing up thought pieces and traversing this intricate web of conflicting thoughts I call a ‘mind.’

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