What makes writing good?

Occasionally, I encounter people who confidently describe themselves as good writers. This always makes me pause—not because they aren’t smart, creative, or thoughtful, but because being “good at writing” is such a nuanced and subjective thing.

Having spent years reading graduate papers, dissertations, and editing books, I’ve come to believe that good writing isn’t about the writing itself. It’s not about impressing with wit or dazzling with style.

Good writing disappears. It sinks into the background, leaving the reader fully immersed in the world the writer is creating.

If I’m thinking about the writing while I’m reading—whether it’s clunky, vague, or overly polished—it pulls me out of the experience. Writing should act as a vessel, a path, or even a doorway. Its sole purpose is to take the reader somewhere else.

The French poet Yves Bonnefoy put it beautifully: “…it is not the text that counts. However remarkable this text may be, its poetic quality depends on its author having known how to keep alive in it the light of what is beyond language.”

That’s the essence of it: good writing doesn’t draw attention to itself. It serves something greater—an idea, a story, an experience that transcends words. It’s not about the writer. It’s about what the writing can bring into the world.