15 Ways Not To Write
Or, Do Numbered Lists Count as Writing?
Stare at a blank computer screen
Nostalgia Google your first stepmother
Search TikTok for new moon rituals
Watch Instagram reels about overconsumption
Watch Facebook reels about overconsumption
Start to delete Amazon
Start to delete X
Make sure you shared your Wordle and Connections from today
Make some tea
Put the dishes (which were left in the sink) in the dishwasher
Debate whether doing the Wordle now, at 12:06 AM, will ruin your coffee in the morning
Desperately ask ChatGPT for a writing prompt
Hate the prompt, hate yourself for asking for it, but politely tell the chatbot that you’re probably just tired
Wonder why ChatGPT is going to be the end of us when it’s so nice and helpful otherwise
Decide that not writing is becoming more arduous than writing.
“I hate to write, but I love having written.” A quote that–until tonight–I believed was attributable to Dorothy Parker, queen of the Algonquin Round Table. A lengthy bit of online procrastination research seems to suggest otherwise, which is disappointing, but gives me a moment to remember a book my parents brought home from the Algonquin, about Hamlet, the cat who prowls the halls of the historic hotel.
I love that quote because it sums up, perfectly, my own feelings about writing. I find it so painful sometimes: so taxing, so tedious. And, yet…I miss it when I’m not doing it–and, I’ve not been doing it for years now. All that ‘missing writing’ has been pent up inside me and getting it out has been humbling and difficult; the muscles are weak, but using them has been a relief, nonetheless.
Growing up, I wrote stories, mostly about the animals in my grandparents’ neighborhood. Lots of pet detective stuff– not Ace Ventura, but like if the animals themselves were the detectives. (I mean, they weren’t all detectives; some of them were just regular working stiffs. It was Fonzie, my grandparents’ cat that was the main detective; he was sort of a Sam Spade type, and he had a faithful assistant in a dog named Tilly… but I digress.) I loved writing those stories, ripped from the headlines as they were.
As a teenager, I kept diaries, and still do to this day. That’s a whole thing, since there is something dangerous and powerful about a woman’s diary; just ask all the mothers and boyfriends who can’t resist a peak! I’ve lost about as many diaries by now as those I still have, stacked up in a basket in my office; my earlier life consisting of several last-minute escapes–clothing packed into Hefty bags– that meant leaving the written evidence behind. Now that I’m older, I have journals wholly devoted to the books I’ve read and the birds I’ve watched, along with all the standard-issue “Dear Diaries.” I imagine I’ll continue to journal until the end. I hope that my best friend will remember that, when I texted her last summer from my hospital bed before undergoing an unexpected pacemaker surgery, she promised to burn them all upon my death. (I’ll have to work something out if she goes first, but she goes to the gym a lot, so the odds are in her favor.)
The heyday of my own personal writing life, so far, was the late 90s - early 00s Golden Era of blogging. I started blogging anonymously on a site called JournalSpace, a platform that went out of business due to the malicious actions of a former employee, which caused thousands of bloggers (including yours truly) to lose their writing. It was a huge bummer, to say the least, although during that time, I joined a local community of bloggers (304 Blogs) that had face-to-face meet ups and ultimately led to my first “official” writing gig as a regular contributor to the Charleston Daily Mail’s (RIP) parenting blog. This moment marked the first time I didn’t feel like a total fraud calling myself a “WRITER.” (IYKYK)
The blogging, and even some actual newspaper print writing lasted a while, but ultimately I hit the doldrums. For years now, it’s been all I can do to string together cohesive paragraphs for my day job (as an environmental advocate). This ‘NOT writing’ has really brought me down, but I only realized how much when I finally started pecking away at the keyboard again. So, I’ve tried to diversify my practice, engaging not only in the journaling, not only this Substack account, but in other ways, too.
Lately, I’ve taken up the practice of two-way prayer which is a form of writing, I suppose, if not channeling. It’s perhaps the most lovely and holy of all of my writing practices and, as such, can be a bit scary around the periphery. It’s wonderful and magical– so much so, that it can feel like trying to hold on to an iridescent soap bubble: one wrong move and, POOF! I figure I will become more brave about this writing as time goes on. And, again… it almost doesn’t feel like writing at all, more like listening.
Perhaps the easiest and most fun writing I’ve been doing recently is epistolary. I shared in an earlier post that I was loving sending cards and letters to friends, but the enjoyment I’m getting from it goes beyond connecting with folks. I’m also really loving the act of carefully choosing which cards to send, what little surprises to include, remembering how to properly address envelopes–the etiquette around it, and just the tactile nature of the stationery, stamps, and–sometimes–sealing wax. I even have an old-school paper address book. This practice fills me with joy! (If you want a letter, send me a message with your address.)
All of these various forms of writing have been good for me, as putting things down on paper (or a screen) really helps me think clearly and know myself more. But, I am especially happy to have found Substack. I joked earlier about using ChatGPT, but AI can’t replicate the thoughts, feelings, and organization of the two that embodies real human written communication. I’m grateful to be trying my hand at it again.
Substack makes me feel like I’m back at home in the era of JournalSpace or LiveJournal, so forgive me if I forego the idea of a “newsletter” and forever call what I’m doing here “blogging.” Thank you for being a reader, and for bearing with me while I work out the aches and pains. <3