I spend a lot of time apologising for myself. It’s not that I think I’m a terrible person to be around, but I’ve made choices in life which make me highly unlikable. I apologise to the waiters for being difficult with my plant-based request. I apologise to new friends for seeming dull, because I don’t drink. I apologise because I’m English, and that’s how we communicate. And I also deeply apologise because I like to write, and anybody who claims to be a writer- let’s face it – is a bit of a knob.
It’s not that the actual task is offensive or demands anything from anyone. It’s not loud, doesn’t damage the environment, or requires a lot of space. In fact, an author can write a whole novel in the corner of a café, and their biggest crime would be their difficult coffee order.
So why the big eye roll when another millennial pops up and claims they want to write?
….. because it’s indulgent as hell.
Why would anyone want to read what you have written? Why are your sentences, characters, and paragraphs worth anyone’s time or money? This goes back to Lesson 3 – about writing for yourself and not for the world; however, if you want to make money in this game, you’ll need an ego big enough to believe that what you’re producing is what people want.
We don’t help ourselves either, especially when we’re in our roll-neck jumpers and jotting things down in our Moleskins notebooks. Then we make it worse by using terms like ‘writer’s block’, which Wikipedia describes as a condition primarily associated with writing in which an author is either unable to produce new work or experiences a creative slowdown.
There are undoubtedly times when I look at a blank page and am unsure how to fill it, but this doesn’t deserve to be called a ‘condition’.
After all, a soldier can’t get ‘soldier’s block’ in a war, and a surgeon can’t get ‘surgeon’s block’ before an operation…. as someone will die. Writing, though, has little to no impact on the world, whether you write or not. So you can sugar-coat it all you like, but the truth is, you have the freedom to just not feel like it.
And so, apologising to every person I encounter, perhaps, is a little much, but I think it’s important to remember what it is – it’s writing – fun but indulgent. So let’s keep to our café corners with our roll necks and oat milk flat whites and just get on with it.
THE QUACK 