I Used to Write

I used to write a lot. I once wrote a 60 page undergrad thesis1 and another time I wrote a 4000 word booklet because a friend asked.2 I’ve often thought of myself in the category of writer, which is of course laughable given that I write very little these days. A writer is, of course, someone who writes. That makes me an aspirational writer.

This is already one of those apologia for not writing that you see on many blogs. I’m not trying to do that, I’m just essaying to discover why I don’t write any more. And writing in the process.

There’s a lot of reasons why it’s hard to write. Most of them are bullshit, but they’re there, still. It’s a matter of coming up against the voice that keeps telling you that nobody wants to listen to what you have to say; of convincing yourself that the people who might not like you because of your thought aren’t worth caring about; of deciding that the danger of miscommunication is worth the attempt at communication.


  1. Yeah, it took me a whole year. That’s what they do. 
  2. It wasn’t published. I love this friend, but the publishing company didn’t live beyond book #1, which he just so happened to write. Funny. 

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