That Blank Sheet of Paper
My first Medium article
When I first found out about Medium, these were my first thoughts, in quick succession:
1. “What a cool idea.”
2. “I should write an article!”
3. “But what could I write about, that anyone would want to read?”
In retrospect, it’s obvious that my choice for the subject of my first Medium article would be the process of choosing a subject. My MO tends to be: when in doubt, go “meta.”
When my great-aunt Betty was alive, and I gave her a piece of my teenage-angsty, trying-way-too-hard writing to review, her advice to me was: write about what you know. Of course, this means that I would be writing about myself, and why would anyone care? Even if I weren’t writing directly about myself, it would still be about me, because everything I know is filtered through my own experience of knowing it.
If I sit down and think about it, which I’m doing now, I have plenty to write about. When I tell my personal stories to people, they’re usually interested. For example, I have a brother who hasn’t spoken to me since I was 13, due to his Asperger’s Syndrome. My other brother served as my guardian for a year while he was still a teenager, a TV extra and, briefly, a Scientologist. And I created the first-ever daily audio show on the web. So, in other words, I have stories to tell. But I can’t bring myself to put them out there.
Fear of criticism? Perhaps, but I think it has more to do with first impressions; if I decide to do something, I desperately want it to be immediately perceived as important, so the debut should make a dramatic entrance. This is completely at odds with the kind of art I like to experience as an audience, by the way. Why do I feel different as a creator?
I recently read another Medium article on a similar theme, written in the imperative. “Just Start!” it barked at me. It’s true that once you start a project, it’s easier to continue. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to start. “Analysis Paralysis,” the cliche goes. But what am I analyzing, exactly?
Most good personal stories have some kind of lesson in them. I learned something, which I am generously passing on to you, the reader. My precious gift to give, and your great reward for spending your time reading my painstaking work. Ugh. Who is to say that the lessons I’ve learned are in any way universal?
I’m a songwriter too, and every song is a struggle to say something meaningful and original. Looking at them objectively, none of them are really much of either. Yeah, I know, everything has been said before, the only new ideas are combinations of old ideas… but the desire to create something entirely new never goes away. The last song I wrote, over two years ago, is entitled “Epilogue,” which doesn’t bode well for future output. And I stole the core lyric from a New Yorker article. See what I mean?
Reading what I’ve written so far, I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about submitting this to Medium at all. The description “masturbatory” comes to mind. But nothing that I’ve said above is giving me any kind of pleasure. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not self-pitying either. At this point in my life I don’t really care that much about “making my mark” or “changing just one person’s life” or any of that. I’m a father now, and my own selfish bullshit is taking a backseat to my daughter and the awesome life she has ahead of her.
I do hope to pass some kind of wisdom on to her. What knowledge have I made myself learn the hard way, that I can impart to her and improve her experience? Will she take my word for it? Or will she have to learn it herself, the way that I did? Yeah, I thought so.
