At one time the criticism I most feared as a writer was “self-indulgent.” I had read so many articles that essentially said, “Take yourself out of the story. You are writing for your reader, not yourself. Putting yourself in it is rude.” Some writers even advised, “You can tell when writing is self-indulgent by how many times the writer uses the word ‘I.’ Wherever you see that word in your writing, take it out.”

I became confused. Was writing about myself in first person offensive? Was writing a story because I wanted to read it selfish? Were memoirs inherently self-indulgent?

I resolved my confusion many years later when I realized that trying to write for others at the expense of my own vision was the source of all my block. I began writing what I would want to read, not what I thought others wanted to read, and I stopped feeling apologetic about saying “I.”

Writing for myself has worked well for me. Usually, when I write honestly about something I care deeply about, others are more likely to become engaged than if I try to write what I think others want.

Though I long ago abandoned the “never say ‘I’” nonsense, I see it on blogs about writing all the time. Granted, they produce examples of “self-indulgence” that do make you stop and think. What about writers who bore readers by whining about petty problems to get sympathy? Example: “I tried to dry my clothes but, stupid dryer, they were still wet after the first cycle. I had to run the dryer again. Plus, I have a headache and I found another grey hair, and my cat got sick on the new rug. My life sucks!”

Or what about writers who use their writing to brag? A friend told me about an American writer she knew who self-published a book for the purpose of describing, in tedious detail, his sexual conquests of women on his visit to an Asian country, labeling them as “easy.” If that is not proof of “self-indulgence” at its ugliest, what is?

I have given these examples a lot of thought and, setting aside the issue of moral weakness, I have concluded that in all of them, “self-indulgence” is not the core problem.

In all the examples the writing suffers from having a weak purpose. A purpose is like the wind in the sail of a boat. Without it, the writing lacks energy so it does not go far. If I write only in order to draw pity through “venting,” I may get some cathartic release, but the readers, if they are affected at all, are annoyed, and my “sailboat” stays stuck in the water. (Not that there is anything whatsoever wrong with annoying readers. Even the best writers do that, if only by telling the truth.)

There are big problems with a taboo against venting. What if I want to vent about something that upsets me, such as getting put on hold for hours by a customer service department while having to listen to a scratchy recording of Boot Scoot Boogie over and over again? There is fertile ground for humor here if I am skilled enough to farm it. Plus, since seeking pity, bragging, and venting arise from human nature, they can all be interesting depending on how they are presented.

If I vent in a way that speaks for others, I strengthen my purpose or add “wind” to my sails. If my venting also informs, intrigues, or makes an interesting cultural commentary, I am not sacrificing my self; I still get to vent, but in a way that lets others vent along with me. The same is true of bragging.

An example of bragging done brilliantly is the poem “Phenomenal Woman” by Maya Angelou. The whole poem is Maya Angelou bragging about how awesome she is, but she attributes her awesomeness and mystique to being a woman. She is not only bragging for herself but for every woman alive. She brags but also embraces; she lets others in on her confidence. Add to the artistic purpose the fact that Maya Angelou is an extraordinarily talented writer, and you have not just a wind but a gale.

But does a strong artistic purpose assume you must write for others? Not exactly. I am a reader of my own work, so I write what I want to read. If I look down and see “The air conditioner broke and my stomach hurts and no one shared my tweet. Life sucks,” I feel bored. I am aesthetically compelled to make changes, even if no one ever reads my work. Thus, there is no conflict between my need to make myself happy and the purpose of entertaining a reader.

Writing for yourself is sometimes powerful. Many journals and diaries, which are not even meant to be read, can be fascinating to read because they are honest. Consider the diary of Anne Frank, an adolescent girl who wrote about hiding from Nazis as a Jew during the Holocaust.

What is her purpose? It is a strong one. She is an adolescent trying to understand a life thwarted by a demented Nazi occupation. She is coming of age while trying to make sense of being forced into captivity due to her ethnicity, which makes her diary compelling even though she is only writing for herself.

Moreover, her journal is beautifully written and bristles with her insights on every page. Her luminous personality comes through. Does she eliminate the word “I” or set her “selfish” concerns aside for a reader who might not want to hear her “whining?” Of course not. And even though she does complain, as anyone would in her situation, her uncompromising honesty ignites her prose.

Without knowing it, Anne Frank was speaking for others. Her journal became the voice of many thousands of Jews who suffered during the Nazi regime. Her writing is vibrantly personal yet universal. She gets a crush, she becomes frustrated with mother and the cramped living space, but outside her personal world, violent political forces are raging. Was Anne Frank self-indulgent? If so, she was beautifully and brilliantly self-indulgent.

Unfortunately, some editors see writing that fails due to too little “wind” in its sails and conclude that writers should never talk about themselves at all. They adopt a Miss Manners view of what good writing is. They urge writers to be inoffensive and self-effacing. They are the people who in critique groups urge other writers to “tone down” their writing, by which they mean stripping it of originality, wit, and personality. Stop showing off! Your story belongs to the reader, not you! The advice, if taken, leads to sterile, forgettable, predictable, bloodless writing, not writing with wind in its sails.

I wonder if a similar mindset explains something one of my college professors said, that there are some scholars believe Huckleberry Finn would have been a far better book if Mark Twain had taken out all the humor.

But what about the writer who wrote a book for the sole purpose of bragging about his sexual conquests? Is he not a sleaze?

Well, yes, probably, but that is more of a human nature problem than a writing problem per se. There are sleazy people in the world. Some are dishonest, immature, shallow, or lacking in insight. Often, those people become writers. Telling writers not to use the word “I” is not going to give a shallow person depth, an unwise person insight, or a sleazy person virtue.

However, the fear of being self-indulgent hampers some writers who do have moral compasses by making them feel apologetic for being themselves. For them, fear of self-indulgence can lead to creative paralysis. After recovering from a crippling case of block, I now write for myself because that is the only way I can write. Besides, trying to write what others will like assumes I can read minds, which – as far as I know – is impossible.

Writing, whether it complains, brags, or seeks sympathy, has to begin with me, but to communicate, my writing needs a strong purpose. It needs wind in its sails. That way, if I share it, it does not just stay with me. It moves toward others. And the more wind my writing has in its sails, the farther it is likely to move.

That being said, the word “I” is powerful. It means I am willing to stand behind my words and take responsibility for them. It gives writing authority and authenticity. My self is the wind in the sail that gives my writing boat its first push.

If you enjoyed this post you might like my other writing. Take a moment and sign up for my free starter library. Click here. Also my new novel “The Ghosts of Chimera” will soon be published by the folks over at Rooster and Pig Publishing.