On writing stupid things
I've recently come to the conclusion that I need to relearn how to think and say and write stupid things. Or, more precisely, how to accept that, inevitably, I will think and say and write crap despite my best attempts, and that's perfectly okay.
Sturgeon's Law: ninety percent of everything is crap. Statistically speaking, it's highly likely that only 1 in 10 of pieces that I write or artworks that I make will narrowly evade craphood. Most of my works won't be anything special, maybe just exercises in fluency, shallow flights of fancy, either self-indulgent or overly self-deprecating, unoriginal or even just outright uninspired.
Of course, just because it's inevitable for me to write crap doesn't mean it’s okay for me to just resign myself and stop trying. Writing is hard, and since I do want to get better at it, then I need to keep writing, getting feedback on my writing, and rewriting.
I can't keep my writing to myself, even if I think it's still crap, unless I want it to just suffocate and stagnate for lack of fresh air and proper feedback. So not only will I write badly, I will also have to inflict that crap upon readers. Sometimes — often — the prospect of that is enough to stifle me and get me to shrink away from the writing desk in stage fright.
One would think that with the sheer number of self-help and creative advice books I've read over the years, I would already have learned how to tame this anxiety. But it's a tenacious little monster, unimpressed by my bookishness and theorizing. Nothing to it but to get back to my desk and write more.
(This essay is part of a month-long series of 30 essays.)