What I Think About When I Think About Writing
Even as I start to write this, my motivation drains and a whole host of ill-defined, badly-understood fears bubble up to elbow motivation aside. A bit like a warped Eureka theory, where my body is fear (an apt analogy) and hopes & dreams are the water spilling over the side of the bath.
So I’ll just start.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve wanted to write about, amongst other topics:
- Ten years of hen dos — how 33 differs to 23.
- My sister donating her eggs so I can have children
- What I hear in the phrase ‘finding gold in the ashes of our lives’
- Our trip to Sierra Leone
- How difficult marriage is, and the surprising power of selective ambivalence / letting go
- The experience of starting to coach people
- Whether I even want kids at all (and how terrifying that is to voice out loud)
- Why the reply ‘Busy’ to the question ‘How are you?’ makes my blood boil over
I make notes. I search for ways of describing a situation that will be funny and evocative. I dream about the praise and recognition I’ll get when I brighten up the universe, and how my searing wit will launch a glittering career as [something well-paid and deeply fun]. I write the list above, chuckling to myself about how amusing the whole experience of life is, and holding myself back from rabbit-hole’ing into every topic. Because the reality is that I HAVEN’T written about a single one of these. And I need to figure out why.
Possible answers: I’m lazy. I have the attention span of an amnesiac goldfish (I think I’ve used that one before). I don’t really want to write. I feel guilty. I feel like I’m showing-off somehow. The amount of content out there is overwhelming and I can’t be bothered to fight amongst it. I’m busy (ha!! See?? FUNNY)
All of these undoubtedly apply at one point or another. But I think the truth might be deeper down in the weeds. The truth is, a whole swathe of my identity might have become tied up with my ability to make people laugh through words. Unless it’s going to be perfectly imperfect — engaging, honest, laugh-out-loud funny, reflective of the person I want people to believe I am — I’d rather just not bother. Why ruin the illusion?
Another embarrassing truth is that I get such a high from positive reactions to my writing. The attention. The glory. The thought that I might help someone feel less alone. So I write through the lens of ‘will this make people giggle and earn me lots of admiration?’ rather than ‘is this the demon inside me that I most want to let out today?’.
So why is this a problem? Because more often than not, it means that I don’t write ANYTHING. I spend so long worrying that what I want to talk about isn’t clever or funny enough, or second-guessing how other people will react, that I don’t actually try.
No mas. From today, I am committing to writing something, ANYTHING, every other day.
And to write what I want to write in the moment. Sometimes it will be boring. Sometimes hopefully it will be amusing. Having lived in my own head for 33 years, I imagine it will usually be sarcastic. But at least when people ask me ‘why don’t you write more often??’, I will no longer gawp open-mouthed and stutter ‘err, I don’t really know’.
PS — I’m not going to post every blog link on facebook/twitter every two days (because I don’t want to be that person), so feel free to follow me on Medium if you’re remotely inclined to see it all. And tell me if a particular one of those topics on the list appeal…
