I resonate with this. Moments when I feel sapped of inspiration take on an existential hue and my very ability to write (or not) is thrown into question. Even in these moments, however, my sense of irony doesn't forsake me, since there is something cutely ironic about writing about feeling unable to write. It's like a redundant axiom. You have written something—yes, it might not be Tolstoy, but it's something—and therefore you can write.
I subscribe to the Mania School of Non-Fiction Writing. It's not as popular as, say, the Chicago or Frankfurt Schools, but it will have its day. Its key tenet is that one should not write habitually but sporadically; your desire to write lays dormant and you produce nothing until you happen to read a great piece of writing which evinces a potent mix of excitement and envy that drives you back to your desk and you eke out reams of stuff in a matter of days. This tires you out and dormancy ensues. Rinse and repeat. (Reading your stuff, funnily enough, poked me back to the keyboard, as this inordinately long comment attests to). I hope I can revoke my membership one day and become a habitual writer but for the time being I will have to content myself with vacillating between bouts of frenzy and inaction.
Feeling like you've got nothing to say—and that whatever you do say will come out nonsensical, garbled, inchoate—but writing anyway is how the game is played. If it's any consolation, you write about the quotidian excellently. It never feels cliched. Keep coming back to the keyboard, but maybe give your back a stretch first!
Good to hear from you, and thank you for your kind words. I think you’ve hit the nail on the head perfectly. I often wonder whether I will ever have the discipline or guile to write habitually as you say; to sit oneself down and write despite not having anything there. I’ve tried it and unsurprisingly I hated it. In the words of DFW it feels like wrestling a sheet of plywood in the wind. So until the point comes when I can muster up the courage to tackle my own machinations and write through the maelstrom I think I too subscribe to this Mania School you mention.
Perhaps it’s just an embryonic, half-baked form of writing. I have never heard any successful writer not attest to the pain of sitting at a desk with nothing emerging to put on the page. I suspect part of what makes a good writer is the ability to ignore your ego (which is telling you how shit you are) and muddle through regardless. A level of writerly discipline if you will. I think this is why I would hesitate to call myself a writer proper. Only getting words down when they are flowing easily seems akin to turning up at your local rugby club only when the sun is shining. A fair weather writer. Leaving out the hard yards, the rain and the cold, with your feet up in front of the telly does not make you a bonafide anything quite frankly.
I hope things are well with you and that your final year isn’t too arduous. Any job prospects on the horizon?
One thing I have always quietly loved about you is your ability to literally turn a phrase (e.g. the last para, which is brilliant), but it is often clear to me that you have nothing to write about. In my view, you seem to want prose to "explore" rather than to "articulate". I know this because I was in more or less the same position a while back. And, tbh, if you look at my old work as against yours you will notice that your pieces are just better versions of mine. We are thinking - and thinking about writing - in exactly the same way.
It is a great place to be in. Your foundations are in order. You just need to figure out why *you* want to *write*. Who is Fred, really? What kind of a man is Fred? And why does Fred want to write, specifically? Why is that his chosen form? I hope that helps. Don't beat yourself up. If you can't answer now, you'll be able to later.
Good to hear from you Franklin. I’ve been thinking about your comment for a few days now and I’m still not sure I can really answer these questions.
I think you are probably exactly right in your characterisation. I have despaired at the thought that I have nothing to write, or even worse, cannot write at all. I feel that this situation has driven me to writing increasingly introspective, self-obsessed prose which I am painfully aware of (whence your correct observation of using it to explore). Consequently the only arena of exploration becomes that of oneself, as I continually try to isolate what it means to be me. I think there is probably a place for this kind of writing but I have become sick and tired of my constantly relying on it. I want to get back to thinking in terms of ideas; watching and absorbing the world as it is and writing in terms of that. I fear that continued self-observation and obsession will be the road to damnation (not to mention crap, repetitive writing)
Your words instil me with hope - to know there is space beyond this stage is reassuring. In a way I think the only way I will be able to answer the ‘who’ and the ‘why’ will come from more writing. If I can just get my arse glued to the chair for a few more hours at a time and rattle out more words then things might be a little clearer. Perhaps this is misguided. Who knows?
I’m glad to see you are back and writing yourself. Looking forward to what’s to come. Will be in touch.
I resonate with this. Moments when I feel sapped of inspiration take on an existential hue and my very ability to write (or not) is thrown into question. Even in these moments, however, my sense of irony doesn't forsake me, since there is something cutely ironic about writing about feeling unable to write. It's like a redundant axiom. You have written something—yes, it might not be Tolstoy, but it's something—and therefore you can write.
I subscribe to the Mania School of Non-Fiction Writing. It's not as popular as, say, the Chicago or Frankfurt Schools, but it will have its day. Its key tenet is that one should not write habitually but sporadically; your desire to write lays dormant and you produce nothing until you happen to read a great piece of writing which evinces a potent mix of excitement and envy that drives you back to your desk and you eke out reams of stuff in a matter of days. This tires you out and dormancy ensues. Rinse and repeat. (Reading your stuff, funnily enough, poked me back to the keyboard, as this inordinately long comment attests to). I hope I can revoke my membership one day and become a habitual writer but for the time being I will have to content myself with vacillating between bouts of frenzy and inaction.
Feeling like you've got nothing to say—and that whatever you do say will come out nonsensical, garbled, inchoate—but writing anyway is how the game is played. If it's any consolation, you write about the quotidian excellently. It never feels cliched. Keep coming back to the keyboard, but maybe give your back a stretch first!
Good to hear from you, and thank you for your kind words. I think you’ve hit the nail on the head perfectly. I often wonder whether I will ever have the discipline or guile to write habitually as you say; to sit oneself down and write despite not having anything there. I’ve tried it and unsurprisingly I hated it. In the words of DFW it feels like wrestling a sheet of plywood in the wind. So until the point comes when I can muster up the courage to tackle my own machinations and write through the maelstrom I think I too subscribe to this Mania School you mention.
Perhaps it’s just an embryonic, half-baked form of writing. I have never heard any successful writer not attest to the pain of sitting at a desk with nothing emerging to put on the page. I suspect part of what makes a good writer is the ability to ignore your ego (which is telling you how shit you are) and muddle through regardless. A level of writerly discipline if you will. I think this is why I would hesitate to call myself a writer proper. Only getting words down when they are flowing easily seems akin to turning up at your local rugby club only when the sun is shining. A fair weather writer. Leaving out the hard yards, the rain and the cold, with your feet up in front of the telly does not make you a bonafide anything quite frankly.
I hope things are well with you and that your final year isn’t too arduous. Any job prospects on the horizon?
One thing I have always quietly loved about you is your ability to literally turn a phrase (e.g. the last para, which is brilliant), but it is often clear to me that you have nothing to write about. In my view, you seem to want prose to "explore" rather than to "articulate". I know this because I was in more or less the same position a while back. And, tbh, if you look at my old work as against yours you will notice that your pieces are just better versions of mine. We are thinking - and thinking about writing - in exactly the same way.
It is a great place to be in. Your foundations are in order. You just need to figure out why *you* want to *write*. Who is Fred, really? What kind of a man is Fred? And why does Fred want to write, specifically? Why is that his chosen form? I hope that helps. Don't beat yourself up. If you can't answer now, you'll be able to later.
All best. DMs open!
Good to hear from you Franklin. I’ve been thinking about your comment for a few days now and I’m still not sure I can really answer these questions.
I think you are probably exactly right in your characterisation. I have despaired at the thought that I have nothing to write, or even worse, cannot write at all. I feel that this situation has driven me to writing increasingly introspective, self-obsessed prose which I am painfully aware of (whence your correct observation of using it to explore). Consequently the only arena of exploration becomes that of oneself, as I continually try to isolate what it means to be me. I think there is probably a place for this kind of writing but I have become sick and tired of my constantly relying on it. I want to get back to thinking in terms of ideas; watching and absorbing the world as it is and writing in terms of that. I fear that continued self-observation and obsession will be the road to damnation (not to mention crap, repetitive writing)
Your words instil me with hope - to know there is space beyond this stage is reassuring. In a way I think the only way I will be able to answer the ‘who’ and the ‘why’ will come from more writing. If I can just get my arse glued to the chair for a few more hours at a time and rattle out more words then things might be a little clearer. Perhaps this is misguided. Who knows?
I’m glad to see you are back and writing yourself. Looking forward to what’s to come. Will be in touch.
Best,
Fred