Ah, the joys of procrastination. This time, it's entirely justified. The girl who lives upstairs is shouting at someone, I assume the boyfriend. Moments ago, I could hear what they were saying very clearly. So I turned up my music, something with some bass, to drown them out. Unfortunately, in spite of being able to sleep in a brightly-lit room while someone is listening to metal and atrocious volumes, I can't read academic journals while listening to anything sufficiently loud to drown out an argument in the next apartment. So instead, I'm writing.
I keep thinking that I should write more. A long time ago, I wrote off writing as a profession (pun intended). However, twice in the past week, separate people who know me have suggested that I should give it a try. Both times I immediately laughed, shuddered, and said not a chance. Both times the person who suggested it asked why I'd responded so vehemently in the negative. Then I actually had to think about the reasons why, which I hadn't done since I'd decided it.
The major reasons include that I didn't think I was good enough at it or disciplined enough to make a career out of writing. The other major factor, which I'll get to in a moment, is that I doubted I had anything to write about that anybody except those close to me would want to read.
Now, don't get me wrong, I think I'm an okay writer. Actually, I think I'm a pretty good writer. That said, I've seen and heard people ripping pieces of creative work (some of which I thought were pretty good) to shreds. The idea of having to listen to someone ripping my creative work to shreds absolutely terrifies me. That is a huge part of the reason that this blog started out, and to a great extent remains, anonymous. If nobody could connect this blog and the ideas I write about to me, nobody had to know I actually thought them. Because that could be unseemly. Perhaps as a result of that anonymity, the blog wound up containing a lot more whiny childish drivel than I originally strove for. I don't begrudge myself this, considering that the whining child who wrote the drivel is still in there somewhere, and by golly, she does come out from time to time. In order to make any money off writing, the childish drivel will have to go. This goes with the third major factor.
What I have never done, and have never even made a concerted effort towards, is posting on any sort of schedule, indeed, writing on any sort of schedule. I never applied that level of discipline to writing when I was writing for myself. Writing academic papers: sure, cover letters for job applications: absolutely, my own personal form of catharsis and processing: no freaking way. I write for myself, and to a huge extent, that allows me to write whatever I bloody well like. All the writing I've done for myself has followed that pattern, and it's a decidedly different feeling than writing a script for something I'll perform for a class, or an academic paper someone with a doctorate will critique. The things I write for myself are only partially meant to be read.
Like I said, twice in the past week, people who know of my impending panic regarding what the heck I'm going to do in six months have suggested that I write. This is far from a declaration of intention, but it's definitely something I'm giving some thought to.
Writing as a profession would mean writing for other people. So I'm curious, what do you want to read? I've given some thought to topics, but I'd love to hear thoughts from outside the little glass house.
