The State of the Writer; October 2023.
The words are empty, they slide away out of my brain and will not stick.
It was during the last fading evenings of August that I realised that all was not well. It had become my habit each morning to read what those I subscribe to had written as well as to see if the Medium Digest had selected anyone that I follow. Only those I follow were becoming the less in what the Medium Digest considered to be the articles I should read; and that which was named as being worthy were ugly things full of grief and hate and tales of what the wicked of this world were doing to amuse themselves. Their titles shaped and designed to tempt one to look and tarry for the needed 30 seconds that would press a coin onto their writer’s palms.
So in order to defend my peace of mind I refused the Medium Digest’s daily visitations, — only the harm had already been done. The writing of those I had subscribed to and whom I wished to read would no longer stay with me once it had been read. It was as if my brain wished to have no more to do with words and writing, — and even my own desire to write had abandoned me because I could no longer see the point of it.
There are creative writers here on medium who possess such a skill with words that it leaves me gasping at their craft. And yet almost universally they…
