I don't really have a writing process. I don't write at all but

Lil Baby, a voice of the present age, speaks with raw honesty when he declares: “I don’t really have a writing process. I don’t write at all but, honestly, I feel like it’s a modern-day writing because everything is technology and if I go in there and freestyle and I keep it, I feel like I wrote that. If I go in there and fix it, it’s almost like something I wrote.” At first glance, these words may seem casual, even unrefined, yet beneath them lies a profound truth about creation, expression, and the transformation of art in an age ruled by technology.

In the ancient days, poets sat with scrolls and ink, painstakingly crafting each word. Scribes preserved epics, and bards carried memory in song, repeating verses until they became immortal. But in our century, the tools of creation have changed. Lil Baby reveals that freestyling—the act of speaking raw emotion, unfiltered, in the moment—is its own form of writing. Though the pen does not touch parchment, the voice touches the recording, and technology preserves it like stone. Thus, what was once carved into clay or paper is now carved into sound waves and digital tracks.

This is not unlike the oral traditions of old, when storytellers carried history through the spoken word. The griots of Africa, the rhapsodes of Greece, the skalds of the Norse—all created in the moment, weaving memory and rhythm without script. Their words lived through performance, and though unwritten, they were no less sacred. Lil Baby’s declaration is, in truth, a continuation of that lineage: an art that relies on the immediacy of inspiration, with technology serving as the scribe that preserves it.

And yet, he admits that when he returns to shape and refine his freestyles, he considers it akin to writing. Here lies another deep lesson: creation is not fixed in one form. Whether on paper, in voice, or in the digital realm, the essence of writing is not the act of pen against page, but the shaping of thought into form. Just as Michelangelo claimed he freed statues from the marble, so too does the modern artist free meaning from sound, guided by instinct, rhythm, and reflection.

Consider also the story of the jazz musicians of the 20th century. They too improvised, creating in the moment without script. Their music was not "written" in the traditional sense, yet it was genius, and it has endured across generations. Improvisation, preserved through recording, became as eternal as any symphony written on sheet music. In this way, Lil Baby’s art echoes the same principle: that creation is not limited to the old forms, but adapts to the tools and mediums of each age.

What, then, is the teaching we should take from his words? That we must not bind ourselves to narrow definitions of writing or art. To create is to give shape to thought, whether through the pen, the voice, the brush, or the keystroke. The danger lies not in breaking tradition, but in failing to see the value of new traditions being born. Art evolves as mankind evolves, and each generation finds its own language, its own process, its own tools.

Therefore, O seekers of wisdom, honor both the old ways and the new. Cherish the written word, but also respect the power of the spoken verse preserved by technology. Do not scorn the freestyle as lesser, for it is the raw pulse of the human spirit, no different from the songs once sung around fires in the night. And if you create, do not wait for perfection—speak, record, refine, and let your work live. For the measure of creation lies not in the tool, but in the courage to express.

In the end, Lil Baby’s words remind us of a timeless truth: the form of art may change, but its essence does not. Whether in scroll or song, parchment or pixel, creation remains the noble act of turning the unseen spirit into something eternal. And so, let every voice that dares to speak know this: you, too, are a writer of your age, if only you allow your soul to be heard.