Why so Serious Mister Writer

Welcome Timmy, welcome. Today, we’re steering away from the deep, dense woods of the craft to explore something a bit lighter. You know, before we get lost in the labyrinth of specifics of the craft. And why so serious, you ask? Why do we writers often wear the badge of the bohemian? Well, take a glance at writers, whether they’re fresh on the scene or seasoned wordsmiths—they’re anything but serious.

It’s all about perspective, my friend. Many folks have etched in their minds this image of the writer from yesteryear—the recluse, the loner, someone engaging in bizarre rituals to summon the muse of creativity and miraculously find that elusive spark. But let me tell you, Timmy, today, we’ve moved light-years away from that notion.

There’s plenty to be serious about in the craft, Timmy. Frustration, check. Anger, check. The dreaded block, double-check. And let’s not forget the relentless drive to succeed, which can sometimes blind us to what writing is truly meant to be—meaningful.

Now, I was going to say that writing is meant to be fun, but that’s just a slice of the pie, a chapter in the whole story. Writing is meant to be meaningful; it’s supposed to hurt a bit while you’re at it, make you weep, and, of course, let you have some fun. But what writing absolutely isn’t meant to do is suck the joy out of your life. If it’s doing that, you might as well be working the graveyard shift at some desolate gas station in the middle of nowhere. Trust me, you’d suffer less, and you might even get paid more because misery resonates loud and clear through the written word.

Absolutely, Timmy. When you’re pouring your misery and bitterness onto the page, readers pick up on it, and it shatters the immersive experience. Now, don’t get me wrong—there’s a place for pain and bitterness in writing. It can be cathartic, therapeutic even, but handling it skillfully is key. There’s a fine line between expressing your pain through writing and creating a piece that’s painful to both write and read.

So, why all the seriousness? Are you afraid? We’ve delved into this with Neophyte before (you might want to check that out), but let me tell you, it’s not about fear; it’s about respect. Respect for your craft and, equally important, respect for your reader’s time.

Maybe you’re mixing up fear with reverence. Thinking that by dreading something, you’ll somehow be more mindful or respectful or even gain something. But Timmy, let me tell you from experience—fear only goes one way. It casts a shadow over you, and you gain nothing from it. Worse yet, you might find yourself in a far more nefarious position than you’re in now, all because you let fear take the wheel.

Apologies for the meandering words, Timmy, but unless you have a specific problem this topic has too many faces to focus on just one. Changing this perspective is like steering a ship—it takes a hard turn. And yes, I’m speaking from experience; don’t give me that subconscious side-eye. The shift is so profound that tackling just one aspect is like battling a hydra—cut off one head, and three more appear. The thought lingers, like a parasite in the minds of the innocent, and parasites know no moderation.

This insidious force sings a false song of security and warmth, worming its way into every nook of your life until your thoughts orbit around it. It devours the very essence of your daring and creativity until all that remains is a useless gray goo…

Whoa, hold on, Timmy! No need to shake in fear. Remember what I said about the computer and screws? That’s all I’ve got to work with here. Much better.

Fear, the micro tyrant, should have no power, but we end up granting it too much. Maybe it’s because, as Charles Chaplin put it, “We think too much and feel too little.” Perhaps it’s time to just feel while you write, without overthinking. You can fix bad prose, but you can’t mend a future that hasn’t unfolded. It’s just not worth being serious about.

So, go take a walk, soak in the sun, and we’ll reconvene tomorrow.

Until next time.