What I think about when I should be writing

I was speaking to a mate the other day about how Murakami’s What I talk about when I talk about running had a big impact on him when he first read it. And when he revisited it more recently, it fell a bit flat and didn’t spark the same flames as last time. But it got me thinking and so a new series is born.

When I started writing a list of things I did instead of working on my book, a familiar concoction of sadness, despair and frustration made me stop after about fifteen dot-points. The last one was ‘this list’, which was going to be an ongoing blog article I’d update intermittently. Don’t bother searching for it, I didn’t publish it. If I do, will you read it?

When I sit down to write, I oscillate between thinking I have something interesting to say to wondering why anyone should read what I write when there’s so much already vying for their attention. Their favourite author, to name one. I think self-doubt’s pretty common (for writers). Stephen King said ‘To write is human, to edit is divine.’ He's right of course. No one types out a masterpiece first go.

Kerouac did with On The Road.

He didn’t. The story of him sitting down and writing it in one sitting fueled by a concoction of drugs is a lovely idea but false. In reality, the manuscript was heavily edited throughout multiple rounds of edits and feedback from his publisher. The challenge is silencing your inner editor while you’re writing. Maybe that’s why Hemmingway said ‘Write drunk, edit sober.’

I don’t like talking about my book because it’s not finished and feels like it never will be. And I HATE writing about my writing because it feels self-indulgent and who cares? If I can’t find the energy to write regularly on my website, why should I expect anyone else to find it interesting, let alone read it? There are more things trying to take your attention than ever before.

Fortunately, no one reads anymore, apparently. That’s what business people and self-identified marketers (and LinkedIn Premium users) say. Ironically, often in long-form Linkedin posts touting the importance of visual storytelling, a 360-degree strategy and a solid paid ad foundation. There’s only one thing they like saying more, actually. And that’s growth in conjunction with ‘X’ because if you’re going to survive this recession, you’re really going to need to 4X your growth, stat.

Over the last thirty years – a frame of reference that most optimistically approximates my lifespan – I think the amount people read has decreased, hasn’t it? The rise and increased sophistication of television, gaming, movies – the internet – and the flash bang of streaming services (and to a lesser extent the proliferation of pornography without the need to justify it by saying you’re just watching it because you enjoy reading the articles) must’ve dropped the amount people read, right?

I read, just not as much as I think I should. I read a line recently, I forget where but it wasn’t a status update. A book I think – most probably an audiobook – attributed to Mark Twain. ‘A person who doesn’t read has no advantage over one who can’t.’ It’s not true. We all read all the time but what we’re reading has changed horribly – emails, social media, Netflix’s 30-word blurbs, news (when we can stomach staring at the grim reflection of the state of the world), and books for some.

So what?

Over the last two years, I’ve tried to read more. I say tried because there have been long months where I haven’t picked up a book, scrolled through an article or pushed play on an audiobook. And the strangest thing happened – I seemed to be reading the perfect book at the perfect time. Mostly non-fiction, self-improvement, philosophy along the lines of anything by populist stoic philosopher Ryan Holiday, books around mindset, borderline wanky things like that. But book after book felt like it was being scheduled into my life like I was a lucky character finding just what they needed on their hero’s journey in some Netflix show book.

I came to two conclusions thinking about this strange phenomenon. The first is that the quality and relatability of self-improvement books have significantly improved since the days that led to self-improvement books being a prop for underconfident, flawed characters in 90s sitcoms. Have a look on the self-improvement shelf next time you’re in an op shop, and you’ll see an overcast sea of 90s self-help books heavily centred around curing anxiety and depression. The titles read like bad clickbait headlines and feel like a clown make-up smile painted over a clinically depressed frown.

Got the blues? Get some clues.
(This one probably inspired the famous kids TV show.)

Bust your anxiety in 7 simple steps.
(It’s a running-based treatment.)

Turn the baby blues into the baby WOOOOOs!

(Post-natal depression is much harder to rhyme.)

The second is, the more I read, the more ideas seem to come to me. The more inspired I feel to write and the better I feel. Part of that, I think, is aligning the actual and ideal versions of myself that Freud proposed. I believe I should read more (and write more) so when I do, it makes me feel good. Sometimes I catch myself wanting to lie down and hit escape – binge Netflix, doom scroll, whatever will distract me from the ever-present reality that I’m not writing as much as I should and I still haven’t finished my book. And sometimes I acknowledge the pang that pings somewhere in my head. If I want to publish my book, I need to be active, not passive. Read, don’t scroll (rather than write don’t read). I need to create more stories and consume less entertainment. Write more, watch less. Do more with the time I have. 

Sometimes, that is what I think about when I should be writing.