The Addictive Allure Of Writing: A Craft That Never Lets You Sleep

BY ISAAC ASABOR*

There is something insatiable about writing. Once you start, it becomes impossible to stop, and worse still, it has a cruel way of keeping you awake. Whether you are crafting a sentence or just wrestling with a word, the battle between the mind and the page is relentless. It is no wonder that French writer Jules Renard once said, “Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.”

For writers, the act of writing transcends mere profession; it becomes an addiction, a sleepless pursuit of expression. You might be tempted to think it is a simple habit, but writing is far more than that. It is a compulsive force that drags you into the early hours of the morning, only to whisper ideas that refuse to be silenced. “The scariest moment is always just before you start,” writes Stephen King in his memoir “On Writing”. But once you do start, there is no telling when or where you will stop.

Writing does not just occupy your mind; it possesses it. Each word is like a puzzle piece, and the satisfaction of finding the right one is euphoric. With each paragraph, you feel closer to uncovering some hidden truth or perfecting an idea that is been brewing in your subconscious. But that euphoria is short-lived. It leaves you wanting more, striving to perfect every word, every sentence, always seeking that next rush of creative satisfaction. This incessant need to tweak and refine can be thrilling, even addicting, but it is also relentless. And so, the writer is caught in a constant loop of creation and revision, always chasing the next fleeting high that comes from turning a nebulous thought into something tangible on the page.

Novelist Anaïs Nin captured this feeling perfectly when she said, “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and retrospect.” It is the thrill of tasting life again and again that keeps a writer awake, night after night, unable to pull away from the glowing screen or the half-filled notebook. The writer becomes both observer and participant in their own words, reliving moments, ideas, and emotions over and over in the crafting of sentences. It is an almost meditative state, where every word feels like a brushstroke on the canvas of life.

Once the mind begins churning with ideas, the body follows, and sleep becomes a distant memory. You toss and turn in bed, ideas swirling, fragments of sentences forming, characters developing, and there is no rest until you surrender to the page. Before you know it, the night has passed, and the sun is rising, but the itch to keep going remains. Writing keeps the brain in a heightened state of alertness, a perpetual state of creativity where sleep seems like a distraction rather than a necessity. And so, the hours tick by as the writer stares at the screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard, mind locked in the intoxicating rhythm of creation.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, no stranger to sleepless nights, once reflected, “You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.”  It is this deep need to communicate that keeps the writer awake, this insatiable desire to give form to thoughts, no matter how fleeting or fragile. The pressure to capture those ideas before they vanish with the dawn can be overpowering. You tell yourself you’ll sleep once the chapter is finished or once the perfect phrasing is found, but the moment you complete one task, another thought demands attention.

The truth is that writing is a form of addiction, but it is one that society rarely warns you about. The late-night binges of caffeine-fueled writing, the hours spent agonizing over a single line and the constant pursuit of the perfect story, it is a cycle that is impossible to escape. It is a drug of sorts, intoxicating and relentless. When you are in the zone, nothing else matters. Time blurs, meals are skipped, and the outside world fades into insignificance. The need to write becomes so powerful that even when you are not at the desk, your mind is still on the page, drafting sentences in the shower, on a walk, or in the middle of the night when sleep finally beckons.

As Franz Kafka aptly said, “A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.” To stop writing feels like losing part of yourself, and so, despite the exhaustion, despite the endless revisions and doubts, the writer returns to the blank page, eager for more. It is not about chasing deadlines or pleasing an audience; it is about quieting the restless mind that demands to be heard. The addiction lies not just in the act of writing itself but in the need for catharsis. Writing offers an escape from the chaos of life, a way to distil the noise into something coherent, something beautiful.

Writing, then, is both a curse and a blessing. It deprives you of sleep but fills you with a sense of accomplishment that nothing else can replicate. Every writer knows the paradox: the more you write, the more you feel alive, yet the more exhausted you become. The duality of the writer’s life lies in this tension, between the need to create and the physical and mental toll it takes. It is a love-hate relationship, one where the rewards often feel just out of reach, but the process is too seductive to abandon.

But perhaps that is the beauty of it. As Toni Morrison once remarked, “If there is a book that you want to read, but it has not been written yet, then you must write it.” And so, writers write. They burn the midnight oil, chase their muses, and push through the fatigue, because, at the end of the day or night, it is the only thing they can do. Writing is, at its core, a way of making sense of the world, of speaking the unspoken, and that compulsion never fades.

Writing is addictive, yes. And worse still, it keeps you awake. But for those who love the craft, it is a price worth paying. “I can shake off everything as I write,” said Franz Kafka, “my sorrows disappear, and my courage is reborn.” And so, the writer returns to the page, always seeking, always sleepless, but always fulfilled.