Writing about Writing

Again a bit out of sequence, as it was written in May.

I’ve dried up. I haven’t written anything for awhile. So I thought I’d write about exactly that; in the hope of gaining some insight into what might be blocking me.

I’ve been here before, in that I’ve explored this very same topic in an earlier blog post, “why speak, why write”. I’m hoping to avoid recycling old material so I’ve just read it through again. To be honest, some of the issues in that post still apply now.

Trying to think back how it all started is hard; It all seems rather vague. I don’t think I had any home tutoring and I have no memory of being read to. So I’m guessing it all started in primary school. We were all issued with slates and chalk, and I think we were supposed to copy letters from a blackboard. I don’t remember any distressing incidents about that. My real problems kicked in around numbers and basic arithmetic. My dad began the early damage in that area.

Many people can remember significant teachers and other adults in their early lives. Individuals who were kind and generally positive. Adults who were quick to praise and slow to chide. I find it hard to remember anybody like that.

I remember being given my first fountain pen, a Parker. I was really pleased with this gift and I can still almost smell the ink as I took the top off the bottle, dipped the nib into it and then moved the lever up and down to fill the pen. The possession of this instrument, (it almost felt like the Stradivarius of pens) I think encouraged me to work hard at my handwriting. I liked to watch the letters and words take shape on the paper. However, it seemed that hard work was to no avail, as all I received was criticism. My writing was compared to a spider whose legs had been dipped in ink and then allowed to crawl across the page.

I also blame this period of my life for developing my loathing for lined paper. One teacher used to insist that when we wrote a letter that had a dropped or raised tail, such as a “p” or a “d”, then said tail had to extend to the line above or below the line we were writing on. I began to see those lines as tyrants of restraint; I just felt they were confining.

I think as a consequence of all this punishment, I began to develop writer’s cramp in my teens; usually within minutes of starting to write. Once out of the education system I avoided writing unless I had to. It was many years later, with the advent of the word processor that I felt somewhat liberated.

The difficulties I have however, aren’t just about the physical act of writing. I also struggle with whatever I’m trying to write. Mainly these days that seems to be connected with my online blog. Which was something that started almost by accident. I was looking for somewhere to publish a memoir I’d written about a particularly difficult period in my life, and someone suggested I try WordPress. The memoir was roughly 25,000 words long, and WordPress had an area that was separate from the Blog section where one could post longer documents. That just left the Blog site to deal with; what was I going to do with it?

Initially I decided to write and record events from various periods in my earlier life. Later though, it all became a bit more eclectic. So the whole thing is now composed of short pieces dedicated to my thinking on various topics, or current events in my life as well as the past.

The one undeniable thread running through everything though, seems to be related to so called mental health issues or the functioning of the mind. I think I entertain the notion that it all might be useful to someone someday; which seems a bit arrogant on reflection. A part of me feels utterly bored with the whole thing, and I think that’s a large part of what’s blocking me.

I have written some interesting, entertaining and even, according to some, quite evocative pieces. So I don’t really know what the problem is.

If I think about the books and authors I like to read; there are key elements that need to be in the style of writing, if I’m not to put the book down. Economy of words is one of them. By that I mean the ability of a writer to express what they want with simple everyday language, rather than great long wordy sentences. I’ve always felt that was the mark of a good writer.