People think writing is easy. Like, *insultingly* easy. As if the act of pressing keys on a keyboard automatically transforms your inner monologue into art. As if everyone with a laptop and a caffeine addiction is suddenly a fucking wordsmith. Newsflash: just because you can type doesn’t mean you can write.

There’s this weird illusion that writing is the most accessible of the arts because the tools are everywhere. Paint needs brushes. Music needs instruments. Film needs equipment and people. But writing? Oh, anyone can open a Word document, right? Just spill some thoughts, slap in a few metaphors, and—boom—art. Never mind craft, tone, pacing, rhythm, emotional precision. Nah, just vibes.

And here’s the kicker: in making writing *more* accessible, we’ve somehow made people *hostile* to the idea that it’s a craft. Like, if you dare to suggest that good writing takes study, discipline, or (heaven forbid) editing, people look at you like you’re gatekeeping. As if saying “learn how sentences work” is some kind of elitist attack on creativity. Everyone thinks they’re a writer now, and that’s why so much of what’s out there is just... shit. Empty words dressed up as profundity. Plotless, rhythmless, heartless. Because nobody wants to do the work anymore. They want the dopamine rush of *feeling* like a writer, not the long, boring grind of *becoming* one.

Being a good writer isn’t about inspiration or word vomit; it’s about skill. Study. Precision. You have to *read*. You have to tear apart other people’s sentences until you understand why they make your bones hum. You have to write badly, over and over, until you start writing less badly. It’s a learned artform, like any other. But people hate that idea now—they want it to be effortless, as if depth and clarity are things that just happen when you’re “authentic.”

And because of that cultural rot, writing as an artform has become undervalued across the creative industries. Everyone wants content, not craft. They want dialogue that sounds like improv, narratives that can be written by committee, scripts that are just vehicles for CGI or branding. Writers are treated like replaceable parts—because, hey, anyone can write, right? Just feed ChatGPT your outline and get a screenplay by Tuesday. Who needs a human who *understands* language?

Writing isn’t easy. It’s not disposable. It’s not “just words.” It’s architecture. Every comma is a gear. Every sentence a vein. And when you stop respecting the craft, when you stop *learning* how to write, you end up with the creative wasteland we have now—where everything looks shiny, sounds clever, and means absolutely nothing.

Writing is a form of madness dressed up as discipline. It’s not for everyone—and that’s okay. But pretending it *is* for everyone has cheapened it beyond recognition.