What is There to Say?
I hit a point, several years ago, where, for no truly apparent reason, I decided that all of my writing was shit. What did I have to say to anyone that hadn’t already been said? What experience could I share that hadn’t already been documented? I was proud of my road trip tale…but didn’t Kerouac do it better? Aside from that, what did I have that was new, different, life changing for someone to read?
Self-doubt sucks. But I write, I have always written, and so I kept on, for my own edification. Not always. I don’t “journal” regularly, but when something disturbing, or interesting came up, I wrote.
Now, thanks to blogs, I have the opportunity to share the ephemera of my mind…whether the writing is good, bad, or indifferent. I remember an argument that I had with an ex-lover. He was always pushing the envelope, and I asked him, told him, wondered why he couldn’t take joy in the little things…watching a flock of birds wheeling through the sky, the camaraderie of strangers, those odd days where one wakes up thrilled to be alive.
He told me he was looking for a life-changing sign, something that would blow our “normal” lives out of the water. This was right before 2000, and I must admit, I wouldn’t have minded if the status quo had gone to shit.
I would still like the status quo to wither and die, but I believe in taking joy in the little things: a flock of birds, a dog romping, any unexpected glimpse of beauty. I still don’t know if I have anything to say to anyone; some days I question my own sanity. But then, I think, isn’t that our job?
If we didn’t question the reality that we live in, well, we’d have nothing to hold over those flocks of birds and romping dogs…we’d just be critters. So I write, and question, and think…and I hope that you do too.
posted by Ginger @ 4/25/2006 12:54:00 AM
2 Comments:
Well, Ginger, I entered municipal politics with about the same attitude towards it as yours is to writing. The Mofos kicked my ass and burned my house down.
I entered the Toronto Star as a cub reporter, and the same thing.
Always somebody up there who may say, sensitive bitch, the world will kick you out.
But what did I see in my college's literary magazine one day by a CBC broadcaster I knew?
"Are you weepy, little dreamer?
Insensitive world will kick you out."
I've forgotten most of the poem, it was so long ago, but the title stays in my mind, thirty years later.
It is certainly longer-lasting than my friend Sue's job at the CBC.
I sometimes wonder if a writer's worst enemy is another writer, especially an insecure one who wants to hang on to her job and sees a contender coming.
The Canadian Broadcasting Corporations seems full of those people.
Trust your ability.
Well stated. Sometimes writing is about writing, not the reading of your writing -- so it doesn't matter that someone else has said it before -- they didn't say it from your eyes/heart/soul -- so it's worth hearing from YOU.
Keep writing -- if nothing else, it's cheep therapy! ;-)
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