A Moment of Cynicism

Also read as “Joke of the Day”, to say nothing of using irony and self-deprecation in a world they are overused.

Writing is hard and not often satisfying. It is time I admitted it to myself. I wonder about people who say they love writing, that they have to write.

I have not written properly in months and I am just fine. Aside from the fact I no longer write for catharsis – I am in a place where I can handle my feelings and thoughts without romanticising them – I feel words are becoming empty, especially since they are more easily shareable and accessible now than they have ever been.

One could argue there is a dearth of good writing and that is why all writers should keep at it. I offer to differ. There is enough great writing out there and we would not be the lesser were fewer writers to practise their craft and share their creations. Some platitude about “just keep writing” would be appropriate here, but come on, you don’t believe that, do you?

I do not love writing or enjoy it the way I do, say, cartoons. I just write, sporadically and often ineffectually. I cannot say why I do this. I have not gotten around to deconstructing this part of myself. This used to bother me, but I cannot seem to care any more. My emotions, thoughts, and life’s happenings are no longer fodder. Why should they be? My experiences are not special or any more valid than another person’s.

At the root of writing, I believe, is the belief what you are saying is meaningful, at the core an entitlement and unabashed arrogance at your own importance.

What makes you worth listening to more than a mewling street preacher? Do you really have to add your voice to the cacophony?

Speak your truth. Share. Don’t censor yourself. Meh.

Additional reading: What makes bad writing bad? – Toby Litt

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