I’ve put off writing this particular article for a while now. There’s something about it that I’m just so afraid everyone is going to hate.
Whenever I pick up a pen (or let’s be honest—open a new document in Word) I feel a foreign, but oddly pervasive pressure to write exactly the right thing. I think that’s pretty common. But for some reason, this column has my stomach especially knotted.
A lot of writers have tricks for starting—tools to negate the ever dreaded and always pertinent “writer’s block.” Some people write down words as quickly as they can, others just free write and hope for a spark. My strategy is to think about a topic, and only that topic, until my head hurts.
Although my tactics are less than commendable and I’m pretty sure that nobody will like this column, at least it’s going somewhere now.
Some say it’s best to put the focus of an article right at the beginning, or else people will lose interest. I usually like to wait until the sixth paragraph or so to really say anything. That way, I can spend most of the article filling up everyone’s heads with empty metaphors and self-inflicted retort.
See, the thing is, sometimes when I write, I feel like I’m just talking to myself. I guess in a way I am. For some reason I expect people to listen to my barely clever and unsavorily roundabout explanations of everything. It must be like listening to somebody on State Street ramble on about something they know nothing about.
Okay, so I probably have a better command of language than some guy with no teeth who claims Gary Busey is from Venus. But is understanding the difference between “their,” “there” and “they’re” the real deal breaker?
I think it’s more an intuitive thing. When I read something by a writer I like—say David Sedaris—it feels like everything is planned but not at all contrived. I want to know how to write like that; it’s sort of like making points subconsciously. I’m not sure if that’s something they can teach you in school.
Clearly it isn’t fair to compare myself, some shmuck in college, to one of America’s most articulate. But it’s so hard not to. Why is Dave so much better at talking to himself than I am?
Well, I guess practice makes perfect. More likely, it’s because he’s just better at knowing how to please an audience.
You may have noticed some of the blatant self-criticism in this column. I’m just not confident you’re going to like the way things end about 200 words from now.
It’s hard to put something you’ve thought of all on your own out there for everyone to judge. Nobody is universally liked. So by default somebody is going to absolutely despise this column and me for writing it.
Maybe you’re wondering why I choose to write when all I can do is think about how much everyone is going to hate whatever I say. Well to be honest, that’s a bit of an oversimplification.
I’m not actually upset by people who dislike the way I write. It’s just a way of measuring where you are. If people really don’t like your style, it might be a good idea to change (because you’re kind of a useless writer if nobody wants to read your work). And even though this conversation sounded really good in my head, I’m not so confident anyone else will appreciate it.
No matter where you were expecting this read to go, I don’t think it was here. This is the end of the line, and I suppose it’s time for me to be frank with you: The only point of this conversation was to hear myself talk.
Got something you’d like to say to Andy? Whether you think his writing is a pile of horse shit or not, email him at holsteen@wisc.edu.
