No Gate, No Bolt: On the Freedom to Write Without Justification

In an age where feedback is immediate, social validation shapes value, and criticism is both currency and culture, the act of writing is increasingly framed as something to be judged. Writers are often told they must accept criticism — as if it is a rite of passage, a toll for entry into legitimacy. But this assumption collapses under deeper scrutiny, particularly when we distinguish between the writer and the author, and understand writing as a sovereign act rather than a public product.

To write is to express without permission. The page does not demand credentials. It asks only that you show up. The writer, in their most elemental form, creates for the sake of presence — not applause. Writing may be therapy, rebellion, exploration, or meditation. It is often private, sometimes sacred, and not always intended for others. In this space, the demand that a writer “must accept criticism” becomes not only absurd, but philosophically incompatible with the very nature of writing as an internal act.

This is not to say criticism has no place — but rather that its place must be contextual. An author is someone who brings writing into the public domain, into systems of readership and discourse. By stepping into that world, the author enters a relationship with an audience. Communication now takes precedence over solitude. And communication is inherently dialogical — it invites feedback, including criticism. Thus, it is understandable that an author might need to accept criticism, if only to better understand the reception and interpretation of their work.

But the leap from writer to author is not automatic — nor is it universal. Some writing is never meant for publication. Some is shared, but not for validation. And some is experimental, defiant, or deliberately outside of accepted forms. For these forms, criticism may not only be irrelevant — it might be corrosive.

Therein lies the deeper danger: when society assumes all writing is meant for public approval, the act of writing is confused with the product of writing. The writer becomes prematurely treated as an author, and the private act is forced into a public contract. What should have been personal becomes performative. What could have been freedom becomes conformity.

Philosopher and feminist thinker Virginia Woolf once wrote: “There is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” It is a clear rejection of imposed boundaries — an affirmation of intellectual and imaginative sovereignty. To write, then, is to declare that sovereignty. To suggest that one “must accept criticism” implies that sovereignty is conditional — that it must kneel before external validation. But sovereignty, by nature, does not ask permission.

Many great writers echoed this truth. Toni Morrison, in her often-quoted line, reminds us: “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.” This is not a call to please the reader — it is a call to fulfill a personal void. Charles Bukowski famously declared, “If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.” Again, the emphasis is on instinct, not reception.

This does not mean that all criticism is unhelpful. But criticism must be reframed — not as verdict, but as response. Not as authority, but as commentary. When a reader reacts, they are not defining the writer — they are revealing how the work lives inside them. In this way, criticism becomes less about correction and more about perspective. The writer is free to listen, reflect, or ignore.

That said, the line between resistance and arrogance is delicate. Dismissing all criticism can also become a way to protect mediocrity or hide from self-awareness. But the antidote to this is not to submit blindly to every opinion — it is to cultivate discernment. Writers must learn to recognize when criticism reflects genuine misalignment between intent and expression — and when it reflects projection, bias, or misunderstanding.

At the core of this discussion is the belief that writing is not owned. Not by critics, not by readers, not even fully by the writer once it enters the world. But before it leaves the writer’s hands, it is theirs alone. To write is to claim a space in the world without needing to explain why. It is to speak without raising your hand first.

So let us say it clearly:

A writer does not need to accept criticism to be a writer.
A writer does not need permission to begin.
A writer’s legitimacy is not up for debate.

Only when they choose to publish — to become author — does the relationship to critique evolve. But even then, the writer within remains sacred. The writer is the origin — the source. And the source does not ask for approval to flow.

In defending the sanctity of the writer, we defend the creative spirit itself. Not all who write seek the world’s applause. Some write simply to be free — and in doing so, they already are.