I have done it about four times in the last couple of years. Maybe even more. I really don’t remember, but then, that is what it’s like. I just get my head in a good space, and it all goes smooth for a bit, and then they’re back like a weird aunt who has a distinct scent of formaldehyde and a breath even worse.
It seems I have voices in my head which tell me I need to delete everything and walk away. They are loud and persistent in their message. I have a colleague who is pretty good with a megaphone, and even better without it. I don’t know why she bothers with the thing, actually. The voice of disdain, a whispering sibilance in the recesses of my mind, is equally good at what it does, if a lot quieter in doing it.
It is times like now I really need to take a good, hard look at why I do what I do here. I do, at times, focus on the numbers I see spotted about. And when I do, and when the voices are there, the fun of being on any social media instantly gets sucked out it, like when the big bug on Starship Troopers sucks the brains out of the hapless soldier it manages to get its proboscis into.
I guess, like for anyone writing stuff and putting it out there, the question of whether we are wasting our time comes up. It sure does for me. Today, listening to some music that probably is not setting the right mood, I have started asking that very question. And today, on an emotional and self-indulgent level, I want to answer, “Yeah, I’m probably wasting my time.”
But a whole tonne of authors who have said anything about writing itself said writing is the marathon through the deepest circle of hell and beyond. I had little idea just how right they were. They all warned me, and, like the jester the proverbial village misplaced, I had the delusion tucked away that it would not be that hard.
What an idiot.
All I can do is laugh about my own folly and hubris. This stuff keeps you humble. So, to ask the burning question: why the hell do I write stuff at all here or anywhere? It is because I actually enjoy writing. And now that I am thinking about that reason, those voices are actually retreating into the shadows again. I mean, in a physical sense, I can feel their weight lift from my chest and stomach. If you’re freaked out, I sympathise. I would be a bit freaked, too, if I were reading someone else’s post with all this in it.
I also have no fixed theme to my Substack presence or that on X. I just write what I like and what I want. At times, I wonder if I need a more focused theme to what I write. But I write for fun and the enjoyment of it. So, if I am writing for fun and enjoyment, what do I need to care about a “focused theme” or…what is it influencers call it?…a “brand” for?
Remembering why you write is a key to mental health in the writing game, whether new and under the radar, and (I suspect) when you hit the big time. I am sure Matt Dinniman still has moments where he’s wondering what the hell he has let himself in for.
It is time to say screw it all and dance through the spaces in my head wearing nothing by a terry towelling dressing gown dancing to Men Without Hats’ The Safety Dance and just being whatever idiot I am and revelling in it.
I am too old to give a crap about what I “should” be doing. I need to learn to start acting like it.
If you’ve made it this far through my outburst, I really do appreciate it. Thanks for hanging with me this long!
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