“I don’t know what I think until I write about it.”

— Joan Didion

This quote from Joan Didion has always struck me not just as wise, but as fundamentally true. For me, writing isn’t about capturing a finished thought—it’s the very process by which the thought is formed. Until the words start appearing on the page, my ideas remain vague, half-formed shadows. But once I begin to write, the pieces start fitting together. I begin to know what I think.

Lately, I’ve found that this process doesn’t always happen alone. Thanks to tools like AI and thoughtful back-and-forth discussions, I’ve discovered a new kind of writing: conversational writing. It’s still me doing the thinking, but something about the dialogue—whether it’s with a person or with a digital partner—unlocks ideas that wouldn’t surface otherwise. Inspiration becomes a conversation. Clarity emerges, not from silence, but from exchange.

Writing as Discovery

Writing, for me, is not just self-expression—it’s self-exploration. Inspiration might strike at random, but understanding it? That takes sitting down and letting the words find their form. And sometimes, especially with the help of collaborative tools, it’s in the responding—question by question, layer by layer—that the idea truly arrives.

In this sense, Joan Didion’s quote becomes more than a personal truth. It becomes a creative strategy: don’t wait until you know what you think to write—write to find out what you think.

The Magic of a Creative Contract

Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic recently added a new dimension to this realization. Her framing of inspiration as a living, breathing thing that chooses you—and that you must make a “contract” with—was deeply resonant. She encourages creators not to work from a place of suffering or torment, but from curiosity, joy, and lightness. That perspective completely reoriented how I view creativity.

She suggests that when inspiration knocks, you don’t cage it in expectations. You welcome it like a guest, treat it well, and see where it wants to go. That idea feels so liberating—especially for someone like me who is often tempted to perfect everything before it’s even begun.

Now, when inspiration visits, I say yes first. I start writing. I engage. I explore—trusting that understanding will follow.

When the Author Becomes the Idea

I became an instant Elizabeth Gilbert fan after reading her novel City of Girls. Her storytelling swept me away—her characters were alive, her world was rich, and her voice was deeply comforting. I loved the feeling of reading her more than I cared about the facts of who she was. Still, curiosity got the better of me, and I began researching her life.

It didn’t take long before I found myself feeling that strange disillusionment that sometimes comes when we dig too deep into the people behind the work we love. The bloom faded a little. Not because she was disappointing—but because reality couldn’t compete with the beautifully idealized version of her I had created in my mind.

And then, almost poetically, I stumbled upon this line in Big Magic:

“Experience has taught me to be careful of meeting my heroes in person; it can be terribly disappointing.”
-Elizabeth Gilbert

She knew. She understood. She had already written my feelings before I even knew how to articulate them.

That’s when it hit me:

I don’t always know what I think until I read it, either.

Whether through writing or reading, understanding for me comes after the fact. Thoughts are like meals—they need time to simmer. They don’t arrive fully formed. They need to be stirred, seasoned, sometimes even shared.

The Joy of Creative Distance

I’ve chosen to keep Elizabeth Gilbert in the world where she is a master of story, a kindred creative spirit, a voice I return to when I need grounding or inspiration. I don’t need to know her whole life story to value the impact she’s had on mine. Sometimes, keeping a little mystery between yourself and your creative heroes is the only way to preserve the magic.

And in that space, I’ve come to realize something else: the same goes for my own ideas. I don’t have to know them fully to start working with them. I just have to listen when they arrive, write them out, and trust the process.

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Closing Thought

Creativity isn’t a bolt of lightning—it’s a quiet knock. Sometimes it’s a whisper. And whether through writing, reading, or even conversation, we open the door and begin to shape what we didn’t yet know we were holding inside.

So the next time inspiration visits, don’t wait until you’re ready. Say yes. Write something. Talk it out. Let the idea show you who you are.

Because, in the end, you don’t know what you think—until you write, or read, or speak it into being.