Palaver

Writing

thesilentist:

I wrote this at my other non-menswear blog. Posting here has been sparse, but I think some of you might enjoy this topic even though it’s not menswear related.

cubicleparty:

My roommate recently suggested to me that I should keep a diary. I actually think it’s a decent idea, but that’s not the topic I’d like to focus on at the moment. The conversation later drifted toward how he thought I should save more of my writing and archive it all.

I responded that while I used to keep a very detailed archive of my past written work — published, unpublished, private, blog entries, essays, drafts, outlines, early websites, school assignments, etc. — I’ve long stopped caring about maintaining such an archive and no longer care if it all one day ends up deleted.

In fact, I’ve taken steps to voluntarily delete a fair number of it myself. I’ve also disabled Google from indexing what I write here on this blog so it’s no longer searchable to find past things I write (easily, anyway).

I realize this sounds a bit strange, especially to the many writers out there would die a thousand deaths upon a hard-drive failure or those of you who cannot imagine if you lost your journalism clips. And maybe it strikes you as annoying that one would make what was once publicly published into such a difficult task to later reference back on and find.

I wouldn’t blame someone if they thought I hated my own writing, which while complex enough of a thought isn’t entirely true. But to explain this behavior and attitude of mine toward my own writing — including and especially those things I’ve written which I’m proud to have written and allowed people to read — I more or less have to lay out my philosophy on writing.

I think most writers have at least once seriously looked into themselves and had this inner conversation about what writing means to them. The best have even been able to spell this out coherently and in a manner that’s helpful to some in the form of books or essays. I’m decent, but not great, and so mine comes in the form of a Tumblr post.

I’m a good writer. I wouldn’t say I’m a great writer. I’m practiced in the skill and maybe have some initial talent that’s been nurtured. While I’m not particularly prolific and filled with award-winning prose, I like to think that my ideas come across clearly to those who can be bothered to read an entire piece’s full length.

I don’t think saying you’re a good writer is an egotistical thing to say. It means that you value your work and have the good sense to charge people money once in a while to use your skills to do something they’re terrible at doing or that they don’t have time to do.

Still, every writer has weaknesses, crutches and rules they break — maybe even some bad habits (one of mine is ending sentences with a preposition, which people who can’t write don’t know you did anyway). But good writers are at least aware of these deficiencies and will admit at some point they need editing, which is an often under-appreciated skill — much like an inker, colorist or letterer to a penciler’s artwork in comic books.

But all writers have the common love of writing. I’m not entirely sure why I’m driven to write or why I really love writing. I was initially very much into technology, the sciences and logical topics. I’m not sure why my brain flipped at some point to enjoy writing more and decided to bench those other topics.

I’ve tried to come up with a few reasons why I find myself driven at times to write — even when there’s no financial incentive to do so. Often, I’m bored or restless with my environment — yet have no desire to be around others. Writing’s a good thing to do alone.

I also have zero creative abilities outside of writing. I do not consider myself an artistic person. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never pursued the arts as a child and now find the barrier to entry too high to be worth my effort and time, but writing is something I can do without having to purchase supplies or take a class. Starting over is simple. Correcting mistakes is simple. The barrier to creative entry is extremely low for me to climb over.

Writing is also great for me to explore ideas in the simplest form: text. Each word has meaning and an exacting interpretation. Sentences are clear. Paragraphs organize thoughts. It allows you to tackle creative challenges that are complex or simple — from novels to bullet-point listicles. Computing has made text manipulation incredibly enjoyable and easier.

With writing also comes the ability for me to process complex topics and ideas into phrases of clarity. It’s easier for me to communicate ideas in text than in other forms. While not as universal as a symbol or icon, it allows for depth.

I think I love to write though because it’s the ultimate freedom. You do not need a computer, typewriter or even a pencil and paper. You can write entire novels in your mind. In an interview on “60 Minutes”, my favorite rapper — Kanye West, duh — told the interviewer that he didn’t write down his rhymes but instead kept it all in his head.

I do something similar when I write. A lot of people think the writing process happens when you sit at a keyboard, type things and then finish by printing it out, emailing it or blogging it somewhere. That’s completely not what the writing process is to me.

What I described above is not real writing. It’s execution. Typing is mechanical, but it is not writing. It’s a step you go through to publish, but it’s not writing.

Writing takes place in the mind. Before you can write you have to think — or at least you should if you want it to be any good (in my opinion). You have to do some research. For some things, this means sitting on a computer and Googling a topic. Other times, you’ll actually read these things called books in a place called a library. Maybe you’ll have to observe something firsthand or talk to people about a topic or event. In the best cases though the research is conducted entirely in your mind. You think about a topic and take all the time you need to introspectively explore the boundaries and origins of an idea.

Then you begin to link it all together. You’ve thought about something so much and done so much research that your mind takes the pieces and strings them into a narrative that makes some sort of sense. You’re writing in your head. Revising, rephrasing and free-flowing around the subject that you compose it.

And once you’re done thinking, then it’s just a matter of “printing” it. You sit down and do that thing that people think is called “writing” and hit keys like a robot executing binary commands. You flip bits on switches.

But I feel that a lot of people have defiled writing and the actual creative process of it. These people are not writers. They have no idea how writing is actually done. They believe they can assign you something to do, give you a deadline, tell you to sit at a desk during a certain time interval and just “write”.

Bullshit.

That’s the kind of “writing” I absolutely hate to do. It’s insulting to call the product “writing” when it’s produced under such conditions. How can you confine the creative process to such a rigid framework?

Often, the results are lifeless. No one would want to write it if there wasn’t a paycheck or other extortion at the end of it and no one really finds great joy in reading it. Some examples in my life that I’ve experience would be every single assignment I’ve had in school (elementary through grad school), a vast majority of journalism stories I’ve been assigned (rather than pitched to do) and without a doubt every piece of public relations copy I’ve produced.

It’s entirely uninspired other than fear (school assignments) or money (unfulfilling work assignments). There’s nothing clever about it. Everyone dreads reading it and producing it. It’s like an instruction manual, legislation or an office handbook of rules for proper code of conduct.

The conditions under which such dreadful pieces of “writing” are made prevent them from ever becoming true writing or being read as such. It lacks an inspired creator who is filled with an emotional soul. These things only exist to bore people to death by literally taking time away from their mortal life and make them miserable in just having to use their attention to deal with this — especially if it’s unwanted and forced upon them. It’s trash because we consider and treat it like a disposable thing that’s unimportant that we’d rather not retain. WikiPedia articles have more creative juice in them than this — at least their writers love the subject enough to do it free of charge on their own time!

This is why I resent it when people assume writing is done at a computer. We have a tendency to believe that if we can’t see an actual person doing something then they’re not creating something beautiful and important for the world to perhaps glance at. I believe the opposite is true in some cases: the most inspiring acts in the world don’t happen where our eyes can perceive them, but rather they occur in the grey mush we call a brain shielded from view.

When I write, I love to let my mind wander. Sometimes it’ll be for a few minutes or hours. Other times, I like to spend weeks on a topic, just rethinking it over and over in my head. I might never “print” it, but I do a lot of writing in my head.

I do some of my best writing while washing dishes — a mindless physical task that lets me zone out and keep my body busy while my mind is free. The same goes for walks around the city or eating lunch alone away from my desk or people I know. Solitude and contentment let me write — not a keyboard with the perfect program and typeface selection.

I kill pieces from being “printed” for a variety of reasons. I lose interest or don’t think it’s worth sharing with others. I like the idea of keeping things for myself. It’s not that I’m greedy and don’t want to share, but moreso that I don’t think it’s worth giving to people. I assume that most people won’t care much for the majority of things I think and write in my head. I think it’s a way of doing the world a favor, actually, by putting less out there.

(This is why I cannot stand Facebook or most people on Twitter — no one really wants to think critically about the mental pollution they’re creating and being enabled to do with these social-media services.)

The process of writing to me is the most enjoyable part. I like existing in my mind and working things out to my satisfaction. I like the ability to create some form or order and tell a story that appeals to the audience of one.

The printing is actually boring. Publishing comes with a double-edged sword of people either liking it or hating it. You open yourself up to people with risk. I used to like the idea of writing for a lot of people — because it has a mental benefit — but it also comes with a set of expectations and demands that might not be worth the effort.

I’m a big believer of what Merlin Mann and John Gruber when they talked about obsession + topic + voice in blogging at SxSW. I believe that Gruber said that when he writes, he tries to imagine his ideal reader and write for that person. That person happens to be himself (again, writer’s have a very high opinion of themselves and their abilities). Marco Arment dovetailed off of this idea a bit and said that during his writing process he aims to compose pieces that would appeal to his ideal reader, John Gruber.

When I write about random topics (like this essay or a lot of the other longer things I’ve blogged about over the years), I do it primarily for myself with the idea that friends of mine might find it interesting enough to read. My intended audience is often extremely small and I never intend to demand that a friend should “read my blog, dammit!” (because, obviously, it’d be a real unfriendly thing to demand of a friend).

When I write, I do it because I feel something and have a passion for the subject at hand. I care — a lot — about it. It’s not something that’s forced upon me, but something I’m pursuing. When you’re really writing, it’s like being told to drive with a gun held to your head — except it’s you with the finger on the trigger, not someone else.

So during this whole process from idea to analysis to writing to printing I’m living an experience. And once I’m done and the words are displayed on a screen somewhere, I feel a sense of relief. It’s a goal achieved and in that moment I’ve reached a pinnacle. For me, my time was well spent. Mentally, I feel better to have it done. Finishing was the reward.

And in that moment, maybe someone reads it. Maybe others stumble across it and find it. Maybe people hate it. Or only read part of it. Or they share it. Or someone gets really crazy and prints it off and files it in a fold and then takes it out to read again sometime in the future. Maybe something absurd happens and it’s archived in the Library of Congress along with every single public tweet ever made.

But, again, for me the act of completion is like an artist signing their work after the last stroke has been applied to a painting. I am done and have no interest in retaining this baggage anymore. I’ve carried it and this entire process has been to expel it from my mind and get it out of me. I have no use for archiving or filing it away for later. I’m through with preserving it for posterity. I’ve spent enough time and attention on it, so I’ve released it for others to be consumed with it if they wish.

This is why I don’t worry about backing up my blog posts, saving my newspaper clippings or throwing out all those mementos of “accomplishment” and “recognition” for the writing I’ve done. I know I did it, I was there, I wrote it. I’ve moved on. I don’t need to constantly remind myself of the past glories and failures of my writing. And I certainly don’t need that distraction when I’m writing something new, worrying how it’ll fit into this archive of work I’ve assembled. It’s not my job to cannibalize myself to see where things fit and rate.

When someone reads what I write, we share a moment. I share my final product, a reader shares in the consumption of it. But I recognize that instance as just a moment. It’s fleeting and not forever. New things will always happen — and should occur. It will replace your full memory of reading what I wrote. Your mind might retain a tiny element to be remembered at some obscure time later, triggering a recollection of the words.

I’m perfectly fine with the fact that I will forget many things throughout my life. I struggle to remember friends I had as a child, what it was like to do certain activities or visit certain places. I can’t be expected to have perfect recall and remember every single great moment forever — because that would mean I’d also remember all the horrifying, sad and depressing parts of my life as well.

So, I’ve embraced the idea that if memory can be imperfect for even the greatest things we experience, then I’m OK with never saving the greatest things I ever write. I can always write something new, which is much more exciting than dwelling in my past accomplishments. I’d rather focus on the future than reminisce for a time I can’t ever get back. 

I realize that some will maybe point toward a contradiction in my statement about disposable “writing” — the trash — and wonder how I could carelessly toss aside the great writing with the uninspired bits. But I don’t see this is as the same thing. Disposable “writing” doesn’t even register in your mind. You don’t put it in there at all, it doesn’t become a part of you or attempt to do such a thing. It exists outside of you when you’re forced to accept its presence.

Real writing, however, alters you fundamentally — when you write it or read it.

Our minds are constantly the ever-changing summation of various parts. I believe you can’t experience something new without forgetting something old. We’re always changing — if we’re living our life right — and should embrace that fact. If I was meant to remember, then I’ll remember. If not, then not.

We should be happy about the brief moments of enjoyment we get, but we should also always seek out something new and realize this is a good thing. There’s a lot of great stuff out there.