It’s obvious to anyone who has ever read a story, watched a movie, or played a narrative game they loved that fiction is anything but frivolous. And yet, “is writing fiction a waste of time” is right up there with “is writing fiction a sin” in Google’s search bar. (And let’s not even talk about writing fanfiction.) It hurts my heart, not to mention my head, to think there are still so many people out there wondering what the point of fiction is, or if there even is one at all.

But one the initial flash of frustration passes, I have to admit, even I’ve asked myself some version of this question from time to time. Because when it comes down to it, that “obvious” inherent value of writing fiction isn’t, perhaps, so obvious after all.

That doesn’t mean, however, that it doesn’t exist.

The Value of Fiction vs. Nonfiction

The problem with fiction, if problem it is, is that fiction does not serve a straightforward purpose—or at least, the obvious purpose it does serve doesn’t seem as important as that of most nonfiction.

Nonfiction informs writers and readers alike, guiding us down paths of interest to destinations at which we arrive a little more knowledgeable than we were before. We use what we learn along the way for all sorts of things: making things, remaking things, paving new paths in our careers and our relationships, inventing tools and technologies, turning over new leaves, trying new things. We learn history as much to understand ourselves as to avoid repeating the past. We learn science to better understand the world around us, and psychology to better understand the people around us. We learn “how” so that we may understand “why”; we learn “how to” so that we may do.

Fiction’s first purpose—that is, its most surface-level purpose—is to entertain. Although there are exceptions (as there are to any rule), most fiction will not teach you how to ice-skate or explain why no two people can see the exact same rainbow at the same time. You will not walk away from a novel about a biker with an intimate understanding of motorcycle design, and binging House on Netflix won’t turn you into a doctor overnight.

But sometimes, fiction can inspire you to seek out that knowledge for yourself.

Of course, nonfiction can also inspire us, and offers a more direct path to satisfying any given curiosity.

So what can fiction do that nonfiction can’t? What’s its real value?

Why Writing Fiction is Not a Waste of Time

Both nonfiction and fiction can inspire people to take action, it’s true, but I would argue that fiction does it differently—and in some cases, more effectively. The inherent limitations of nonfiction mean that it must always focus on what is and what has been; any discussion of the future must be purely theoretical. Even science, which so often concerns itself with prediction and projection, must always justify portraits of a world yet to come with sound data and clear evidence.

The magic of fiction is that it has no such limitations. The laws of physics only apply when we writers deem it necessary; the only true barriers are the boundaries of the writer’s own imagination and the rules they themselves choose to set. Fiction can allow us to explore every possibility, not just the most likely ones, including those that are impossible according to the rules of the universe as we know it. We explore these “what ifs” not purely for entertainment, but to remind ourselves that things aren’t always as they seem, and that there are always consequences to our choices—but also, that such choices are ours to make or unmake, and because of that, there is always hope.

Writing fiction, in particular, has psychological benefits beyond this as well. Writing about what could have happened differently in the past or about the future we would like to build for ourselves can be therapeutic; it allows us a safe way to practice changing the narratives of our lives, to find a way forward through trouble and trauma and to explore our own fears, desires, and priorities. Writing about dreams helps us work through them; writing about nightmares helps us figure out how to conquer them.

And yes, writing fiction offers an escape from our everyday lives, a chance to put away overwhelming to-do lists and turn our backs on jobs we hate and responsibilities we never asked for, if only temporarily. Creating our own little (or maybe not-so-little) worlds gives us a sense of control we might otherwise feel we lack; creating characters can give us avatars through which we may vent our repressed frustrations, confess our darkest secrets (without anyone ever being the wiser), and nourish those buried parts of ourselves we all too often neglect.

Writing fiction can save us from ourselves, from sick days spent bedridden, trapped inside bodies that are fragile, squishy, and don’t always do as they’re told. The fiction we write, if we are lucky, might even go on to save others in turn. When I am at my lowest, it’s not to textbooks I turn—my safe haven lies in fantasy novels and fairy stories. As Neil Gaiman once paraphrased G.K. Chesterton, “Fairy tales are more than true—not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten.”

If You Want to Write Fiction, Keep Writing

As someone who dabbles in both fiction and nonfiction, I know it’s all too easy—especially for young or new writers—to fall into the trap of worrying that writing fiction is a waste of time. It seems like there’s a new calamity every day, each catastrophe more devastating than the next. The headlines read more like apocalyptic science fiction than news. And with all that wrongness in the world, it’s easy to feel like what you’re doing isn’t good enough simply because it doesn’t serve an obvious altruistic purpose.

Believe me, I know the feeling. I’ve thought, more than once, about whether it was morally justifiable to put my fiction about my nonfiction, to write about dragons and headless horsemen instead of climate change and mental health.

But here’s what you have to remember, if you’re worried about the same things:

1. It’s not a question of either/or; you can choose, as I have, to do both, although admittedly you will probably have to prioritize one over the other at the end of the day if you also value your sanity.
   
2. Fiction is just as important as nonfiction. Fiction matters, and we need it now as much as we ever have.

And the thing is, even if you only ever write fiction, you can still do good. Write stories that inspire people to be kinder to one another, to lend a hand where it’s needed, to share what can be shared and to give thanks when it’s due. Use allegory to teach the lessons that matter most to you; use symbolism to send the messages you need the world to hear. Raise awareness with your promotions, give back by donating proceeds to charity.

Whatever you do, don’t give up, on yourself or your fiction. Believe in make-believe. You have more magic, and more potential, at your fingertips than you know.

Use it.

A demo of my current work in progress, The Dragon’s Last Flight, is available for free on itch.io. You can also check out my first published interactive fiction story, The Harbinger’s Head, over on the Choice of Games website.