I’ve written 300 posts—and no one reads them. Not really. Not regularly.

Still, I keep writing. Not for likes. Not for career. But because I can’t not write.

I've been brainstorming ways to turn my output into an annually distributable book. While discussing how to make this blog more shareable or commercializable, my coach asked me, "Why would anyone read your book?" Other than my loved ones, I don't think there's any reason anyone would—at least not yet. With the flood of content out there, writers face a stark reality: we need to stand out to compete in the marketplace.

We don’t always read someone’s work for its craft—we read it because of who they are. We read Marcus Aurelius because he was an emperor. We read Barack Obama because he was president. We read their words because of who they are—not just what they say.

There's a lesson here. People are rarely drawn to artistic output purely for its merit. The most popular musicians aren’t necessarily the most skilled. The best-selling authors don’t top charts because their style is phenomenal. It’s because they are interesting people with stories that resonate. They have a message that touches someone—or some algorithm—which lands them in a wide distribution funnel.

This might sound disheartening: artistic success is wildly arbitrary. There's no clear formula or career path to becoming a "successful" artist. Not in the same way medical school gets you to be a doctor or a law firm maps your route to partner. As a creative, you have to carve your own path.

So why keep writing if it’s all arbitrary? If there's no carrot at the end of the road?

Write because that's your job as a writer. The craft demands it. Consistency is the master key to opening doors to opportunity.

Having a body of work increases your surface area for luck. The more you've made, the more chances it has to find someone and move them.

Most importantly: write for you. If your motivation is extrinsic, it will fade. I hate to break it to you, but there may be no good reason for art. Not an economic one for most of us, anyway.

But just because no one is reading your work doesn't mean you should stop writing.

Being an artist of any kind is perhaps nonsensical. It’s not done for reward—because external reward in art is often arbitrarily given.

My best guess is we make art to connect—to ourselves, to others, to the Spirit beyond.

The art itself is the reward.

So even when your art bears no fruit, keep tilling the land and planting seeds.

Write even when no one is reading.