A shell of your former you

It's occurred to me that I may be falling out of love with writing.

I'm not really sure why. Is it because it's something I also do for a living? And you know how people can be when they realize they've got someone who can write at their disposal: you end up doing all of the writing - invitation letters, press releases, even the most mundane of copy.

"Can I have bullet points of what you want to say?" I ask, and I get, well, little. It's still up to me to both guess what they want to say and to put stuff together so the whole thing looks relatively well-written.

It's a bit funny how people always claim they don't know how to write. All right, perhaps it's because we've romanticized writers a lot, especially those who specialize in conjuring images of fantastic scenarios that grab you - a specialty I definitely don't have. But then, we're all taught basic sentence composition from elementary school. I always tell people that writing is easy, but organizing thoughts isn't - and that bit is the most important part. Get that right and you can write comfortably; reliably, if not magically. But, you know, we envision writers as magical.

It could also be because I'm just struggling to write anything these days. I find I don't have the time to pause and observe - and when I do, I'm too caught up with other things to let those observations boil. That goes both for this blog and the column I write for a living, somehow.

Come to think of it, I closed the music blog partly so that I could write more here, thinking that it'd somehow help me keep my humanity amidst the crushing sensation that is my work these past few months - of writing everything, of doing everything, of not getting any support, or appreciation, for doing so. Maybe I shouldn't have. Writing for myself keeps my sense of humanity somewhat intact. But even that blog was becoming a chore - as a more clued-up friend said to me, writing about music is a full-time commitment - and so it naturally had to go.

But then, there's also this feeling that nobody really reads this thing. Sure, I've always had that feeling. Sure, you will say I should not look to others for validation. But if you know you're shouting into the void, why are you shouting? We all want to be heard, even if what we're saying is not acceptable by today's ever-evolving woke standards.

Since this is just my third entry here this month - see, I've resorted to writing about that quota again - I've played with the thought of just dropping this whole thing, of not writing altogether. I've seen others who've done it, and they seem to be doing fine - but then, they found something else to do. I'm not content with geeking out by watching old recordings of 1980s British television continuity online. Also, there's that whole shred of humanity bit. I, perhaps, have made a mistake by defining myself as a writer. If I drop that, who will I become?

And your responses...

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