The Three Books That Made Me Want to Write (And Why)
I still remember hiding under my worn quilt with a flashlight at age nine, desperately trying to finish “just one more chapter” before Mom’s footsteps reached my bedroom door. I’d squint my eyes in that dim light, completely lost in whatever world I was visiting that night. For as long as I can remember, books have been my escape, my comfort, and my most reliable friends.
But despite devouring stories my entire life, I never — not once — thought I could actually write one myself. Me? Write a book? That was for real writers. You know, the magical beings who somehow knew how to craft entire worlds and characters that felt as real as my next-door neighbors.
Then these three books happened. They didn’t just entertain me; they fundamentally changed how I saw myself. They aren’t necessarily the “greatest literature of all time” (though they might be to me). They’re simply the books that made me think: “Wait…maybe I could do this too?”
“The Night Circus” by Erin Morgenstern
I found this book during my second year of college when I was drowning in practical textbooks and desperately needed something magical. I spotted it at a used bookstore during finals week — a complete impulse buy when I should have been studying.
What captivated me wasn’t just the story of a magical competition and impossible circus; it was how Morgenstern wrote it. Her descriptions were like tasting something delicious. I can still picture the clock made of clouds and light, the black and white striped tents, the caramel apples that actually tasted like whispered secrets.
There’s this tiny moment when two characters are sitting on a cloud, and one says: “I would have written it all for you.” When I read that line, I actually pressed the book against my chest like some dramatic heroine in a movie. But I couldn’t help it! The feeling was so big.
This was the first time I closed a book and thought, “I want to make someone feel this way someday.” I’m not saying I could write like Morgenstern, but something about her lush, dreamy style made writing seem less like a technical skill and more like painting with words. I’d like my writing to create that same feeling of being wrapped in atmosphere.
“Station Eleven” by Emily St. John Mandel
Talk about literary whiplash. After “The Night Circus,” I found “Station Eleven” at the airport when my flight was delayed for five hours. A post-apocalyptic novel about a traveling Shakespeare company performing in settlements after a pandemic? Nothing like the magical circus I’d just fallen for.
But this book broke open my understanding of what stories could be. Mandel jumps between timelines, characters, and perspectives in a way that somehow never feels confusing. The connections between characters are like delicate spider silk — almost invisible until you see how they create this perfect web.
When I finished reading it at 3 AM in my apartment, I didn’t immediately want to tell anyone about it. I just sat there, staring at my blank wall, feeling like I’d experienced something profound. How did she manage to make the end of civilization feel both devastating and strangely beautiful?
This book showed me that I don’t have to write chronologically or stick to one character’s viewpoint. The questions it left me with still haunt me: How do we preserve what makes us human when everything falls apart? What art would I fight to keep alive? These are the kinds of questions I want to explore in my own stories someday.
“The Midnight Library” by Matt Haig
I discovered this one just last year during a pretty rough patch — one of those times when you question all your life choices. I’d been saying “I’ll write someday” for about a decade at that point.
Haig’s story about a library containing books of all the lives you could have lived hit me like a punch to the gut. Not because it’s the most original concept ever, but because of how simply and honestly he wrote about regret, depression, and second chances.
There’s a vulnerability to his writing that made me realize I don’t need to be perfect or groundbreaking. When the main character finally understands that “the only way to learn is to live,” I actually started crying in the middle of a coffee shop. Pretty embarrassing, but also kind of perfect.
This was the book that finally pushed me from endless “someday” planning to actually opening a blank document and typing. I keep it on my desk now, and whenever I feel that familiar fraud syndrome creeping in, I touch its cover like a talisman. If Haig can write about the messiness of being human with such straightforward compassion, maybe I can too.
The Beginning, Not the End
These three books form a kind of literary DNA for the stories I want to tell — magical but grounded, structurally interesting, and emotionally honest. I’m still figuring out my voice (aren’t we all?), but these books gave me permission to try.
I’d love to know which books made you want to create something. They don’t have to be the “best” books — just the ones that whispered to your soul: “Your turn now.”
After all, we’re all just readers who eventually decided to add our own stories to the shelf. Some of us just take a little longer to realize it.
