Words With Teeth

On Not Writing

They say to write every day. I envy people who do this painlessly. An ordinary life has enough little wounds, without writing more in.

To be clear, I do not mean to say that I envy people who succeed at writing steadily. I do not mean to say that I envy people who write well. I do not even mean that I envy people who write easily. Those are all fine things, to be sure. I mean specifically this: I envy people who are able to write as an expressive activity that does not hurt.

They say that the secret to writing is just do it. Do it a lot. There is no obstacle. It is just words. As the writer, you make the words. It is accessible and straightforward. It is easy and exciting: The text becomes a place of your own, a situation in which you exercise absolute power. Put aside how lurid that sounds. Command. Enjoy.

Except words have teeth. You cannot just enjoy them; they hunger. You cannot just command them; even armies eat. What do words eat with those teeth? Ideas? Problems? Other words?

A better question: Who do words eat?

Every word seeks meaning. Every word is a hunger. You bring it in to yourself from elsewhere, and it brings the hunger with. You did not create it. You do not own it. You are using it, and use has a cost. Your price is to feed it. Write every day. Go on. Let the word eat.

Who will it eat?

I do not mean to frighten. Eating is not inherently horrifying or wrong. Every living thing does it. Feed your creativity. Feed your mind. Eat. The thing is: Eating entangles death. The former is fun; the latter is something else. Eat every day. Eat well. That is what successful writers do.

But do you know where your food comes from?

Words eat what is strange. They digest it. They make it understandable to others. Are you strange? Do you have a difficult experience? Are there words for you? Perhaps there are, and the words are less than kind, and certainly not polite. They are other people’s words, with other people’s hungers. You may be forced to choose between those words and your silence. If you do use them, then you must be willing to sate their very particular appetite. Successful writers go out and feed the words every day.

How often are they eaten alive?

Write every day. Many painful things go unmentioned. There are impolite words to swallow them up. If writing does not feel painful, then I am happy for you. I hope that you are not eaten.

If writing does feel painful for you too, then I am sorry. Maybe the words are drawn by your strangeness, and you cannot change that. Maybe the words belong to people who hate you, and you have no control over that. Maybe they come with an appetite for what has hurt you before, and they will not be sated until you hurt again. Maybe they would drag out that secret self you keep hidden, and butcher it. I wish I could offer you a solution, but this is not a problem to which I know a solution. Sometimes life is struggle.

They say write every day. They do not say how. Perhaps they will not show their teeth. I envy them for not needing to.