What makes good writing good?

Something happens every time I sit down to write.

It’s a sequence of events, seemingly out of my control, that plays out in the same way regardless of the conditions I find myself in as I begin writing. It’s happening right now, and I’m only conscious of it because I am writing about it. If you are a writer, chances are it happens to you, too.

Whenever I sit down to write, I unconsciously quiet the world around me and begin to speak to myself, and as I hear the words I say to myself, I write them down. I never intentionally set out to initiate this process. It just happens. It begins the moment I tell myself I want to write and as I get myself in the right position, space, and conditions to do so.

But I’ve realized that this process is not just an involuntary, autonomous mental routine; it’s a safeguard. It’s my mind’s way of getting me into a state of flow as I write. It allows me to zone out, keeping distractions at bay and forcing me to be in tune with my thoughts. Most importantly, it gets me thinking outside of the confines of my reality. And that’s where my best writing happens.

For so long, I’ve wondered what constitutes good writing. How skilled or experienced must one be to be considered a good writer? Is good writing all about how well one can string words together without losing their reader’s attention, or is it about the measure of impact that one’s writing makes in their readers’ community? What does good writing read like?

For someone who didn’t enroll in a Masters of Fine Arts (Writing) program in school and didn’t take any literary courses throughout his undergraduate career, I’ve been cautious about identifying as a good writer. Of course, I’ve been writing since I could and have done so professionally for a decade. But the idea that my writing is good, or sufficient enough to be considered as such, has long eluded me.

It wasn’t until recently, when I took the time to consider the weight of the words I write, that I began to see what others have long said about my writing: it was good, and it was good because my thoughts were good.

I stumbled on some old collections of essays, some of which I had written for publications and others that I had shared on a personal website, not too different from the one you’re currently reading. I decided to go down memory lane and try to figure out the state of mind I must have been in when I wrote those pieces.

The more I read the essays, the more it all came back to me. I had written them in the summer of 2018, at a point in my life when everything around me was falling apart. Little did I know back then that life had more wrenches to throw in whatever plans I had cooked up for my future. But at the moment, the challenges I was facing seemed like the worst I could ever face.

And indeed, they were terrible. I felt stuck, confused, and listless, and the summation of all those feelings was depression. I was depressed, and I knew it. I didn’t need a clinical diagnosis to acknowledge my condition. All the signs were there: I felt hopeless for the future, could barely concentrate on anything, couldn’t sleep, had little pleasure in doing things I would normally enjoy, was always tired, and had to feign smiles so I didn’t look as sad as I felt. I was depressed and knew it.

As they say, knowing is half the battle. I knew it, so I decided to do something about it. I took to writing as I tend to do when I have nothing else going. I went on a two-month-long marathon of writing and sharing short essays on my website daily. I also converted the written essays into visual essays and shared them on YouTube for whoever cared to watch. Don’t worry; you won’t find them on that website today.

The idea was simple: keep writing until I felt something. And after more than 60 days of consistent writing, I felt something. But it wasn’t a sting or nudge. Neither was it a deep, profound revelation. It was one simple thought that describes my writing process: writing is thinking.

Writing is thinking. That’s it. That’s the thought.

@tobinifesi Random thoughts at 5 a.m. 💭 #writertok #writelife #earlymorning #sshhhhh #ttyl ♬ original sound - Tobi Nifesi ✍🏼

To write is to think.

I realized that I wrote what I thought and couldn’t do it any other way. By extension, the quality of my writing was determined by the quality of my thoughts. The better I was at processing the ideas, concepts, and imaginations that came to mind, the better my writing became. So, after writing for 60 days, I formed a habit of thinking deeply, refining my thoughts, and making sense of them by stringing words together. But it wasn’t just about developing a habit but about getting better at thinking.

For most people, thinking is a passive activity. We don’t think about thinking; we simply think. We are always thinking, and it doesn’t feel any more routine than breathing. It’s a human experience; if you’re alive, you probably can think. But there’s thinking, and there’s thinking deeply.

Thinking is business as usual, but thinking deeply is about analyzing each idea, concept, and misconception that comes to mind, breaking down cognitive barriers, unlocking mental layers, and creating new realities, all within a single thought or a train of thoughts.

Thinking deeply is about broadening one’s mind, expanding on what has been established, and letting one’s imagination run wild. When one thinks deeply and then writes, the words they produce are bound to be more reflective, insightful, and imbued with a profound understanding of the subject matter.

As a writer, I have to think deeply if I want to write well. I have to search for better angles to a story or topic, consider the three sides of arguments, and push the boundaries of language while being mindful of linguistic conventions. I have to be open-minded yet have a narrow focus to drive home a salient message. And that’s what makes good writing good. The quality of your thoughts will determine the quality of your writing. It does for me. But it can do much more for us if only we prioritize thinking deeply.

Back in 2018, when I was depressed, the more I aware I was of my thinking patterns and the more I allowed my thoughts to run wild so I could write them down, the better I felt. Writing consistently by thinking deeply daily helped me to rediscover the opportunities around me. It opened my eyes to the parts of myself and my reality that were blessings in disguise. I became hopeful, and, in many ways, writing saved my life.

Every time I sit down to write, I have to let my thoughts flow without limits; by doing that, I can write freely. Next time you sit down to write, consider your thoughts. Ask yourself, am I limiting my thoughts? Am I letting my imagination run wild? Am I thinking deeply?

Then, let the words flow.