Below is a link to a blog called 101 Reasons to Stop Writing. It is a blog about writing and actually does have a list of reasons to stop, which, when one considers the amount of verbiage being generated by the human race, might seem like an impossible challenge. Those of us with presumptions to actually be writers–professional, that is, receiving coin for our sentences–are afflicted, I think, with a singular mix of obsession and insecurity.
There is, however, no Twelve-Step Program for us, and even if there were, the initial admittance–that we are powerless to control the urge to run out streams of words on the off-chance someone might actually read them (or, more, enjoy them)–means for us that we are subsequently powerless to continue with the 12-step. But, on the other hand, explaining our affliction, paradoxically, feeds the monkey–more words. And explaining to each other about our affliction sustains us in times when we feel ignored by those who only read what we write. We are subject to puzzled bemusement by people who “don’t understand”; made sometimes to feel guilty by people who want us to come out and play who, when told we are busy writing, complain that we’re not doing anything.
Writing requires both solitude and congeniality–to write about people, we must know them, but we are by nature prone to misanthropy. The more we know people, sometimes, the less we like them, yet we must be sympathetic lest we ostracize the very public we need to support our habit.
But enough about me. I have fiction to write. I shall leave you all with the analysis. [1]
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