There’s something about writing that gets me hung up… Ask anyone who's suffered through knowing me and they’ll tell you that I can talk endlessly (and I do). However, sit me in front of a computer and I’ll only manage a few words before reaching for the “delete” key. If there were a similar button between my brain and my mouth, I’d be using it all day, but there’s nothing between my brain and my mouth— it’s an open tube, and all of my shitty thoughts just flow right through like turds in a sewage line.
On the contrary, when I sit down to write, everything lays out there naked in black and white and it makes me nervous. Each fleeting phrase is immediately read back and then re-read, torn apart, psychoanalyzed and eventually deleted. Then, the arguments in my head start to distract me from carrying on…
“That sounds pretentious,”
“Well, you are a bit pretentious," I say.
“Am I really?”
“Pretentious? Yes, at times... You’re also a bit self absorbed and your skin is oily.”
There’s no opportunity for this kind of reflection when we’re speaking. We just carry on, oblivious to the tone of our voices or the implications of our diction. It’s like, we could just like, use the word “like” like a thousand times and it would sound absolutely fine to us, but write all of that down and it’s impossible to deny how foolish it looks.
So, this is where I always end up: at the realization that to be a great writer, there’s no getting around the fundamental need to be genuinely well spoken and intelligent. Because once the writer’s block has been broken, and the words flow freely from our minds out onto the page, if they smell like turds in a sewage line, no amount of editing can make them into fragrant wisps of wisdom. And that is why I don't blog often...