I write because I breathe. It's what I do.

I've always known that it was what I would do. As a child, making weekly trips to the local library and creating my own magazines, I knew in my heart that I would write.

Seven years ago, when I crossed the threshold of the Catholic Church, I knew that it was time to put away childish things. Suddenly, I realized that I must write about Christ and his Church. Ultimately, no other writing seemed to matter.

A few weeks ago I was fortunate to take part in a gathering of Catholic writers on the campus of Franciscan University of Steubenville. They gathered—poets, playwrights, journalists, bloggers, novelists and all manner of Catholic writers—to wrestle with questions that Catholic writers have long grappled with. “What is Catholic writing?” “What makes a Catholic writer?”

The gathering offered an opportunity to learn about my craft, to rub elbows with successful writers, to trade stories and to develop relationships with other writers, editors and publishers with whom we too often have worked only over the telephone or via e-mail.

In the hallways and on-campus in between the workshop sessions, it was common to hear debates over Catholic writers and their work. “What should be the purpose of Catholic fiction?” “How do we reach beyond the Catholic ghetto?”

Act One professor and screen-writer Barbara Nicolosi and novelist Ron Hansen emphasized the importance of, first, telling a great story. They argued that too many stories try too hard to proselytize at the expense of the story.

On the other side of the aisle, Marcus Grodi, fresh from writing his first novel, How Firm a Foundation, spoke of his zeal for souls as the driving force behind his book. His novel has a point because he hopes to bring readers one step closer to heaven.

The debate has been going on a long time. It is the difference between Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings and Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia. One tries to tell a story. The other tries to prove a point. Both are great stories. The art is in the execution.

Some may wonder whether the festival signals a kind of Catholic Renaissance. Not only is it too early to tell, but even if it did there would be no way of knowing. Certainly, for Catholics, the present situation of the Church seems both perilous and uncertain. The Church struggles with a crisis of identity. Faced with a time where many are likely to be questioning, or even jettisoning, their faith, we realize that Catholic writers are needed now more than ever.

Professor and mystery writer Ralph McInerny reminded participants what a slippery term “writer” is. It includes the biographer, the blogger, the self-published author, the poet, the playwright, the novelist, the apologist and the journalist. McInerny's comment brought to mind novelist Flannery O'Connor's famous comment that “the Catholic novelist doesn't have to be a saint; he doesn't even have to be a Catholic; he does, unfortunately, have to be a novelist.”

Recall that approximately 70 years ago, a small group of writers gathered together in Oxford's college rooms for readings, criticisms of their work and lively conversation. That group, known as the Inklings, included some of the finest writers of the past century—C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams. Perhaps the Catholic Writer's Festival can serve as the impetus for the creation of the Inklings of the new millennium.

Tim Drake is executive editor

of Catholic.net.