I was working at the South Portland Library earlier this week when I looked up and saw the two words that have been haunting me most of my life:
WHY WRITE?
Babe, if I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be here right now.
I’ve quit writing more than anything else in my life and since you’re reading this, you can see how well that last attempt went.
I quit because it was hard. I quit because I didn’t think I was that good. I quit because I did think I was that good and my work wasn’t getting noticed. I quit because I couldn’t take the criticism. I quit because there are better things to do. I quit because why bother. I quit because it can be a giant pain in the ass to arrange words in different combinations, like a mental puzzle that’s never completed. The only other habit that’s had me in such a holding pattern is nail biting* and that anxiety isn’t going anywhere.
Writing is terrible. Can we admit that? It’s homework that you give yourself and I hate homework!! The internet is full of flowery devotions to ~craft~ and stock photos of fountain pens but I’ve never felt connected to that side at all. The ones who speak so beautifully and sincerely about sitting down and doing the work— I wish that was me. Meanwhile, I can’t tell people I’m a writer without hearing the ghost of Chris Farley in my head: "WE GOT OURSELVES A WRITER HERE.”
It’s so easy to quit. Trust me, I’ve done it a bunch! You just walk away from that blinking cursor and don’t look back. There are so many other things to do, like laundry or trivia nights or paint your nails (not me, but maybe you). As it was written all those years ago, “First of all, try to be something, anything, else.”
And yet, every time I quit, I become the worst version of myself. I’m irritated and none of the usual things soothe me. It’s as if there’s an itchy spot on my skin that keeps moving. Everything feels darker and heavier. Even stretching back to my teen years, it’s always been how it feels when I haven’t written in a while. The only way to get it to stop is to write again.
We’re getting to the part where the question, “Andrea, are you doubting your life choices?,” might seem relevant, but this time, it’s not, I swear. I don’t have any doubts about this like I used to. The years of quitting finally drilled it in me that this is just what I have to do. Writing is how I process the world around me and I had to accept that. It’s not always enjoyable yet I do feel better afterwards. I’m a sharer. It’s just who I am. It’s taken many different forms but I keep coming back.
I’m still trying to get comfortable with discomfort (a lifelong journey, let’s be real). When I’m working out how I think and feel about something, it’s never going to be quick. I make so many mistakes that it makes me laugh looking back later. I’m not a hot take machine. I’m a flawed creature with opinions trying to put one word in front of the other. And at least for this week, I didn’t quit.
*I’ve said it before and I’ll say it ‘til I die: Nail biting is the hardest habit to break because your fingernails are always just there.
“I Want to Write Something So Simply”
I want to write something
so simply
about love
or about pain
that even
as you are reading
you feel it
and as you read
you keep feeling it
and though it be my story
it will be common,
though it be singular
it will be known to you
so that by the end
you will think—
no, you will realize—
that it was all the while
yourself arranging the words,
that it was all the time
words that you yourself,
out of your own heart
had been saying.
— Mary Oliver
I really appreciate that you opened this email/clicked this link/made whatever technological choices that lead you here. There’s probably mistakes and I apologize for them with a ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Links to my social and website can be found below. If you’d like to buy me a cup of coffee here or here, I’d be very very grateful. xo
Special birthday shoutout to my mama. <3 <3 <3 Love you!
YKWIM #92: I Want to Write Something So Simply