Don't Forget To Write...

Once upon a time, I was a writer.

I don't know for sure when or why I stopped being such a thing, but here we are.

I still feel like I have a command over the language – though these days it seems more like an earnest recommendation than an actual command – but at the same time I can feel the slow atrophy of a skill that I built a career around as it goes far more unused than I ever might have supposed. It’s like the English language and I were once lovers who drifted apart and now do little more than check in occasionally on Facebook.

It’s a thing I’ve been coming to terms with for years now. Frankly, I could feel my love for writing slipping away for a long time before I accepted it as a reality. Which is not to say that I don’t still love words or wonderful writing or having a career that is at this point writing-adjacent, but that I don’t sit down to a keyboard anymore and look for ways to pour out my sense of self into it the way I once did. Worse, I don’t really find myself longing for a return to form. I’ve let go of my writerly self, let it sail off to the Grey Havens with a casual wave and a relieved shrug.

I realize, by the way, that I’m writing a long form piece on the topic of not being a writer anymore. The irony is not entirely lost on me.

Not so long ago my advice to budding writers was that if you had the capacity to not be a writer then you probably shouldn’t be one. It sounds callous, I suppose, but my experience was that the most effective, prolific and talented writers were either unwilling to be or incapable of being anything else. I felt that way once, and then one day I realized I could take my own advice.

If I’m honest, it feels kind of good to workout these old muscles. They are familiar, and while not as quick to flex as they have been, there’s a joy in seeking them out and finding they are still there. But there’s a spark that was also here once, deep in the center of my chest, that seethed and crackled in the heat of the act of writing – an emotional urgency now long dormant, which seems uninterested in this exercise.

I never thought I wouldn’t be a writer. For decades my sense of self was inextricably linked to the very idea. In the word-cloud of me, 'writer' was in 36-point font. There’s no clear line of demarcation, some moment when I lost the love of the art, or where I realized I could chart the shape of my self without having "writer" in the mix. It’s like the story of a couple that’s been together 15 years, and who one day look up in a tragic moment of clarity to realize there’s nothing there anymore, just a sort of diminished momentum left over from the presumption that this is the life we're supposed to live. There’s a part of me that mourns the loss, realizes something special is now firmly fixed in the rearview mirror and diminishing as the distance of years fills the space between.

I started thinking about all this when I checked recently and discovered it had been more than a year since I wrote something substantive here. Even that was a somewhat perfunctory musing on XCOM 2, that I honestly don’t recall working on. For years I penned my sorta-kinda-weekly column here for the site, and there’s so many words in that mélange of topics that I love, but few of them come from the latter days. If I’m honest, when I eventually let go – let go of the weekly struggle to think of a topic, let go of the countless moments where I tried to drum up an impassioned position on things that I wasn’t passionate about, let go of the need to prove to myself that I was still a writer – it was a relief.

And it’s taken a year to even want to sit down to these words, this space again, if only for a moment. That’s the funny thing: I miss the internal part of the whole deal, those moments when the words became a tap into a part of myself that seemed inaccessible through any other means, when the ideas just fell onto the page almost without thought. What I don’t miss, though, is the actual writing, the endless hours between the magical moments of inspiration that was little more than an emotional equivalent of kicking at the dirt of a lingering drought, hoping to expose damp, fertile ground.

I realize this sounds like a huge bummer, but here’s the thing: I have a much greater fondness for my days as a writer now that it isn’t something looming over me all the time. I take a lot more joy now in what I wrote than I really seemed capable of feeling when it was fresh and active. I’m proud of the work I did, and far more contented with the words on those pages than I was before.

Put another way, not writing is the happiest I’ve ever been as a writer.

I do miss you, though. Long after writing ceased to fulfill something for me, I kept going because of the joy I found in you, reader. I had once thought the two ideas were basically the same, the act of writing and the act of having that writing read, but of course it’s not. Even when the work itself is dry and dirty work, the turnaround of being read was like sitting back on the porch with a cold beer at the end of long day’s work, and taking satisfaction in the job no matter how much you hated doing it at the time. It was you, you reading this now, even if you’ve never read a word I’ve written before, who sustained me.

Eventually, though, making these things for you wasn’t enough once I realized that I had stopped making a thing for myself. It opened a wound that I couldn’t stop picking at. Eventually, it bleeds and you realize that to heal it up for good, you have to cover it and put it all away where you can’t reach it.

Which is really why I’m here, now, telling you this. Because I wanted to let you know where I went. Why I left. Why I stopped talking to you. It’s not you, it’s me.

I’m being melodramatic, of course. I’m still here in every other meaningful way. I do my show, make occasional videos, show up here and there to hang out, but I also know we don’t talk the way we used to, and I wanted to let you know that just because I don’t do it anymore doesn’t mean I don’t miss it.

I have no idea what the future holds. Maybe someday the slumbering ember will glow warm in its dormant caldera. Maybe the words, like Spice, will flow again. Honestly, I hope that’s true. And yet, at the same time I don’t. But it was nice to check in, here, for a moment in the way we once did. It’s like picking up the phone and calling an old friend from a decade ago. As we wrap, we’ll promise to keep in touch, and we’ll mean it in the moment even if we both know …

Anyway, let’s keep in touch.

Comments

I feel you, my brother in verbs.

There are a few things that certainly could renew interest in writing and it could be that you have found your voice in other things: podcast, family, the change in style brought on by social media.

Of course reading (re-reading) other writers can create the writing spark.
I have current experience with analyzing and discovering that my thought outlets have flaws. And only being in a group, in person discussion setting can address this. For you it would be something that only long form writing can address and to be honest, I believe the evidence (sound bite narratives) is all around you.
If you have been stuck at home for extended periods of time, the act of getting out with a goal that focuses on you can be inspirational.
Also, meditation can help but my personal recommendation is community acupuncture. It is different from private acupuncture in that it is very affordable on a sliding scale (typically $20+) and in a group setting. I do it weekly now and it both relaxes me almost completely (almost quieting my sense of urgency in total) and gives me an hour to my thoughts.

This is the first front page thing I've read in months (consciously at least) and I'm glad I did.

Rezzy wrote:

This is the first front page thing I've read in months (consciously at least) and I'm glad I did.

Why do I feel like the guy in the VR helmet right now?

Elysium wrote:

Eventually, it bleeds and you realize that to heal it up for good, you have to cover it and put it all away where you can’t reach it.

TIL: Elysium has spent the last year wearing The Cone Of Shame. Unclear whether metaphorically or not.

I love this line:

Elysium wrote:

Put another way, not writing is the happiest I’ve ever been as a writer.

Doing what you love is a wonderful thing, and stopping (or pausing) while you can still love what you've done is hard.

doubtingthomas396 wrote:
Rezzy wrote:

This is the first front page thing I've read in months (consciously at least) and I'm glad I did.

Why do I feel like the guy in the VR helmet right now?

It's cool. Rezzy don't know what he's been missing.

I'm happiest knowing you're happy with what you're doing. I'm also struggling with this, but the other way. I still have the fire/monkey on my back, but I can't figure out where to direct it.

Ah, this makes sense. I really enjoyed the vignette you wrote about The Magician in The Unmarked, it was well done. Thank you for this little peek behind the curtain. I admit I'm pretty spotty on reading the article writeups, but I'm here for anything related to the stories.

Do you feel that the collaborative storytelling & character development you are doing on the podcast helps, in a way? Different way to scratch an itch?

Don't overthink it. If you have something to say, say it. If you don't, don't.

I've seen too many columnists (including some at my own shop) burn out because they had to fill the column three or four times a week. Eventually it becomes typing, not writing. Who the hell wants to type for a living?

Elysium wrote:

What I don’t miss, though, is the actual writing, the endless hours between the magical moments of inspiration that was little more than an emotional equivalent of kicking at the dirt of a lingering drought, hoping to expose damp, fertile ground.

That right there is f**king poetry. The muscles might atrophy, but you'll never lose the gift.

*stupid double post*

momgamer wrote:

I'm happiest knowing your happy with what you're doing. I'm struggling with this, but the other way. I still have the fire/monkey on my back, but I can't figure out where to direct it.

I have the same thing. Writing is a compulsion for me. Has been since I was a child. I'd do it for a living, but I like eating too much.

I'm scratching the itch by writing a novel. My plan is to finish by the end of the year, which I may or may not succeed at with my other obligations, but for the first time I've outlined the crap out of the story I want to tell instead of following the Chester Gould model.

(Chester Gould, author of Dick Tracy, famously didn't plan his serials ahead of time, on the theory that if he didn't know where the story was going then neither would the audience.)

3or4monsters wrote:

Do you feel that the collaborative storytelling & character development you are doing on the podcast helps, in a way? Different way to scratch an itch?

No question, as does a lot of the music creation and video stuff. I've found a ton of creative outlets that I really enjoy. I don't see ever being in a position where I don't need some creative outlets. Where one has fallen silent, numerous others have sprouted.

Thanks for all the well wishes, everyone.

wordsmythe wrote:

It's cool. Rezzy don't know what he's been missing.

Yeah, doubting, it's not you. It's me. A kind of self imposed myopia.

I feel like I'm in the exact opposite place. My wife and I started our family when we were so young... very soon it became a clear imperative to aim all my effort towards whatever would make me the most money.

Now I'm mid-forties and the kids are older and I feel like I'm coming back to reasons to do things other than the pay. As I am doing so, I find that my secret creator has always been there: I have a trail of outlines and notes, side projects and contributions, profitless efforts to capture and say something.

Writing can never become my only love because I can draw, and because I got my degree in theater, and because now after a challenging career in marketing I have a whole suite of media skills at my command. But I feel these rusty muscles are hungry to power some races again, just for the feeling of running free. For too long, the muscles' master was too mercenary.

I love that your immediate reaction to discovering both that you haven't written in a year and that you don't feel the inherent need to write is to jump on the site and write about it. You even commented on it in the article:

Elysium wrote:

I realize, by the way, that I’m writing a long form piece on the topic of not being a writer anymore. The irony is not entirely lost on me.

I'm interested now that you've written the article, and it's posted; was the impetus to write about not writing just a 'boots on a well worn path' instinct, or is your desire to write stronger than you seem to indicate in your post? Or, perhaps, is this actually a clever lead in to a "call for writers" post?

I have missed your writing Elysium but I agree with the sentiments, just keep doing what you're doing or not doing. After all, it is a leisure thing for you.

Rezzy wrote:
wordsmythe wrote:

It's cool. Rezzy don't know what he's been missing.

Yeah, doubting, it's not you. It's me. A kind of self imposed myopia.

For me not reading the front page (much) has been mostly a website redesign thing. With the old design I would see a new post with some words, read them, and then more often than not go on to read the rest of the piece. With the new design it's just a bunch of pictures, there's no hook there.

Roke wrote:

I have missed your writing Elysium but I agree with the sentiments, just keep doing what you're doing or not doing. After all, it is a leisure thing for you.

Rezzy wrote:
wordsmythe wrote:

It's cool. Rezzy don't know what he's been missing.

Yeah, doubting, it's not you. It's me. A kind of self imposed myopia.

For me not reading the front page (much) has been mostly a website redesign thing. With the old design I would see a new post with some words, read them, and then more often than not go on to read the rest of the piece. With the new design it's just a bunch of pictures, there's no hook there.

Well, time to get good at GiMp!

In all seriousness, thanks for this one, Game King.

You inspired me to stop farting around on my lunch breaks and start seriously working on my novel. I've added five pages since since Wednesday.

If I can keep this up, I might have something to send to an editor by the end of the year.

Roke wrote:

I have missed your writing Elysium but I agree with the sentiments, just keep doing what you're doing or not doing. After all, it is a leisure thing for you.

Rezzy wrote:
wordsmythe wrote:

It's cool. Rezzy don't know what he's been missing.

Yeah, doubting, it's not you. It's me. A kind of self imposed myopia.

For me not reading the front page (much) has been mostly a website redesign thing. With the old design I would see a new post with some words, read them, and then more often than not go on to read the rest of the piece. With the new design it's just a bunch of pictures, there's no hook there.

I took it as more of a piece to get closer and provide an explanation to us.

In the word-cloud of me, 'writer' was in 36-point font.

"The word-cloud of me." I like the concept!

For me, I suppose it'd be "computer programmer."

I'd also guess most of us would have "gamer" up there in the top 5.