The g-spot is a distraction. That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past six months, which is when I last published an article here.
I’ve been focusing on completing the third draft of the novel I’m writing, on writing that’s ‘important’, which implied that the articles I wrote here were frivolous. However, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve used my novel as an excuse not to write online. Six months ago I was struggling to find ideas for articles. I’d sit down, open my laptop and search for inspiration, anything that might spark something that would lead to an insight worth writing about.
If anything, I learnt that insights are difficult to catch, or to hold onto. And the discomfort of sitting down each week grew. So I missed a week. Big deal. Thing is, if you let yourself off the hook once, it’s easier to let yourself off the hook the next time. And so one week became two and then three. Then I’d publish a short story to appease my guilt for not having written anything, even if short stories felt like cheating. And after a while I gave myself permission to stop writing altogether. After all, a novel is far more important than an infrequently visited blog dwindling at the end of a dark alley hidden in some corner of the internet that nobody visits.
And, let’s not forget, people who write on the internet do so for superficial reasons, for recognition, an audience, to stroke their egos and for bots to send them spam from so-called experts that want to help them with their SEO.
Getting good at the wrong thing
A couple of days ago I received this email from Nat Eliason’s substack. It’s a good overview about focusing on what’s important long term vs. what draws attention now. Nat fears that too many good writers are writing newsletters and tweets instead of delivering work that has longterm consequence. He states correctly:
I worry that some of the best writers of our generation are stuck making tweets and newsletters.
And look, I love writing my newsletter. I love tweeting (especially after a glass of wine or two). But I can’t deny a growing sense that very little of this writing matters. And that it might even be harmful to my long-term goals.
My fellow newsletter & Twitter intellectualati will bristle at this claim, but we must be honest with ourselves.
How many newsletters have you printed out and put on your bookshelf?
Nat Elaison
He has a point. Most writers I know seek validation and the easiest way to get it is through subscriptions, retweets and shares which blogs, Twitter (X), newsletters deliver . However, there are a few ideas that are worth considering before we dismiss online writing as inferior to any other type of writing.
The purpose behind writing blog posts, emails, tweets etc.
I don’t expect and article I write here to be read more than once. If my thinking isn’t clear or my writing is crappy, perhaps twice. I write here to share a part of myself in order to find my tribe and to hear from people who don’t agree with me.
I read somewhere that writing online is like shouting into the void in the hopes that someone replies.
Several friends of mine have published books. Their favourite thing is when readers contact them to share how they experienced reading their books – which apparently is rare. The benefit of writing online is that you get feedback. Some of it is immediate while at other times it might be something that you wrote years ago. Book authors rarely have that experience.
Practicing in public
Writing online is also a form of creative practice. I write here to improve my thinking and my writing. If my novel is ever published, or if one of my short stories every goes anywhere, having spent time writing here will have contributed to that outcome.
The internet is one of the few places one can practice a craft in public.
Publishers don’t have a space that allows people to share their rough outlines or thoughts in public. I thought about sitting on a street corner and writing poetry for strangers for money, which I suspect I will do in the near future, but the audience is small. Similarly, writing groups are another way to practice in public, but again, the audience is limited.
The point is, I write here to become a better writer, for which I need yourselves to give me feedback. And based on whatever your share with me, whatever I write in future will improve.
Where I agree with Nat
At some point, as a creative person, you have to look at your body of work and decide if you have done the work that you had and were intended to create. If you spend your talents on tweets and Instagram posts and you believe that is your life’s work – go for gold.
However, if you are meant to write a novel, take photos for National Geographic or inspire people with your movies, then do that. Practice online, in public, get better. Use people’s feedback to polish the blades of your ideas, but then make sure you go back to the work that matters to you.
I’m going to write online more because it makes me feel uncomfortable
I use discomfort as a litmus test for growth. If something makes me feel uncomfortable then I’m probably playing at the horizons of my capabilities. Writing my novel makes me feel uncomfortable, as does writing here. That tells me I’m growing as I do both, so I will come back and continue writing online.
People may not print out what I write online and put it on their bookshelves, or recommend this site in a decade’s time. There are thousands of books that I’ve had on my bookshelf that I’ve donated to charity or given away which I will never recommend or remember reading. Not all art matters.
I write here in the hopes that someone might read what I’ve written and go, ‘huh, that’s interesting, let me think about that a bit more.’ And that is why, for me, writing online important. I’m practicing writing so that I can write work that matters.
So. You feel guilty if you don’t write online. Interesting.
Why is that? I understand that. I feel guilty if I skip my planned run in the morning.
I know this is not the point of the article yet I can’t let it slide.
In my view guilt is a wasted emotion (unless you did something really bad, of course). Perhaps you’ll write more often if your inner voice doesn’t tell you that you have to do something but rather reminds you that you want to do such and such. Since I stared doing that I’m running more. And when I skip it for some reason I don’t feel guilty. I feel I lost our. And that is a much better motivator for next time than feeling guilty
I’d be interested to hear how you made that mental leap – what story you told yourself to move what felt like an obligation to an opportunity. And would the reframing work for everything?