Why I Write + random stuff floating in my brain & a mini rant
random stuff floating in my brain & a mini rant
Prologue
It’ll be weird to sneak back into substack after ghosting for months and launching this page with a post promising I’d try to stick with this writing thing. It’s ironic, however, that my first post after my hiatus is about a few random thoughts,when I spent my summer exploring “interesting” essay topics that I wanted to give my all to,but decided not to publish because I could not connect to them. All 20+ of them. The thing about me is that I am ,unfortunately a nothing-or-all girl ,and I wear my heart on paper. But you see, tyou’re getting this letter today becauseI have decided to stop caring too much if it means fulfilling the one thing I care about — writing. I don’t want my thoughts floating in my head or collecting cookie dust in my Google doc. That’s why you are getting this letter. Also ,a disclaimer, I don’t know if this is good writing or bad writing. The way I’m tricking my brain to stop overthinking is to tell her I don’t care and I’m writing for fun, when in fact I care a little too much than I should.
deep conversations
I’m not a fan of small talk. I do it, because it’d be weird if I didn’t, and honestly there are times I want to know if someone is okay and nothing else. Another thing is that “casual conversations” don’t exist in my world. I’m either fine from a “how are you?” or sending you at least one paragraph about things I’m thinking about. Let’s just say, casual conversations stress me out because I usually don’t know how invested I should be in a conversation and I normally don’t like talking about the weather or your dog for 5 minutes except we were really talking about dogs then I’d want to know everything. Like why do you really like dogs? Did you always like them? Did you or your family have any growing up? And questions of those sorts because you see I am scared of dogs. I don’t hate them but I never recovered from being chased by dogs(trust me, very crazy dogs and the fear of rabies turning people mad. I grew up in Nigeria for context and explaining the dog situation there is at least a 2000 word essay) as a child. I would genuinely be interested in talking about them because I don’t know much about them or why people get them. I’ve read very few articles about dogs and humans but they were generic and nothing beats having a real conversation with someone whose personality you could decipher. But here’s the problem with me most times I’m having a conversation, like the one with the person about dogs — because I don’t have a dog, and I am not even close to anyone that has them (I’m not close to a lot of people), I start to search my brain for relating stories I can share to help me understand their emotion and vibe about this topic. For example, if the person said “I lost my other dog.” I’m instantly curious and I want to know what grieving a dog is like (I know it’s a little dark but I really like to get deep). So, I share a personal experience or story I read or heard that I think would be similar to grieving a dog, just to gauge the vibe and connect better with the conversation. I do this alot. I remember sharing a story once in a conversation with a group of people and someone said I was giving “main character energy.” I didn’t think so. However, recently, I’ve been seeing stuff online, about people describing other people that do this as “pick me” and now when I have conversations where I share a story, I wonder if the person thinks I’m a “pick me.” In reality I’m just overly connected to and interested in the topic. I also sincerely want to know what my feelings were at the start of the topic versus how I feel after. In line with the example, I wanted to know if I have a new perspective on dogs and if I have now formed a new thought about dogs, dog owners and dog grief.
Which I think explains —
Why I Write
As Joan Didion stole this title from George Orwell because she liked the sound of the words. I’m stealing it from her because I like the way it looks as a heading(I usually prefer my headings in lowercase) in her book “Let Me Tell You What I Mean,” which I just finished reading. I took my time reading this essay as I savoured every bite like a well-seasoned-soft-and-tender steak that melts in your mouth (almost) like cotton candy. I have lost count of how many times I read it because I have not read many things that took words out of my subconscious and put them on paper. I love the way it starts, continues and ends. It’s got a nice rhythm to it.
“I am not the least an intellectual, which is not to say that when I hear the word “intellectual” I reach for my gun, but only to say that I do not think in abstracts.”
Reading this essay so many times helped me discover, in part, Why I Write, which is also a big reason I write – to discover my reason or thoughts about something, in words. I don’t write to be intellectual and I hate abstract stuff. I love ideas. Writing for me is a form of exploring, travelling and visiting worlds that help me understand why I think of things the way I did, only to learn about another layer floating in my brain. At the beginning of the essay she described writing as somewhat a way of bullying people and imposing your ideas on them. Although, I don’t think of writing in that extreme, I must admit that somewhere in my writer brain, I want to provoke thoughts and conversations in my reader’s mind. I don’t think of writing as a means to get you to see things my way, but more like a peep hole (reminds me of historical kdramas set in the Joseon era where people poked holes into the door to see how newly weds were getting along) to see another perspective and potentially take parts of it to add to the areas of your (perceptive) that fit and eventually to form and broaden your thoughts on the subject matter. It is also why I tell stories in deep conversations so you can see what I think, put it side by side with yours and tell me what you now think.
“...and it took me some years to discover what I was. A writer. By which I mean not a “good” writer or a “bad” writer but simply a writer, a person whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arranging words on pieces of paper. Had my credentials been in order I would never have become a writer. Had I been blessed with even limited access to my own mind there would have been no reason to write. I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
It was the above quote that tugged my heart the first time I read this essay after randomly picking it up at a bookstore. I was like “Joan, is this a play about me?”, because I had written all 20+ of my summer essays doubting my calling as a writer. I felt like an imposter. Like the mole among competent writers who I thought were writers (the only kind and the ones worthy of the title). I felt like I wasn’t the good kind, because bad writers couldn’t be writers (except they are writers too). All I wanted to do was write what was in my mind, not to sound intelligent or good, but simply to see (hear) my thoughts bleed in words while I trick my brain into thinking I'm telling her stories because she loves stories.The words “,,,by which I mean not a “good” or a “bad writer’’, but simply a writer” boomeRANGed in my brain until I actually flew free on the wings of that sentence. I felt free because if there is anything I have come to detest in all the years of me writing (since my forever) — it is limitations. That something is categorized as good or bad so I have to stay within the spectrum. I wish I could say I don't care about being a good writer, because I’d be lying, but sincerely, a ‘good writer’ is not what I want to be, a writer is who I am. And like Joan said, is a person “whose most absorbed and passionate hours are spent arranging words on paper.”
The writer I am is one who (can) shares her perspective in written form, not because she’s figured it out, but because there is an unending loop of conversations in her mind and has to burden the world with some of it. (I also love the sound of me typing on my laptop's keyboard when I’m not putting ink on paper) It’s the way I get to know what’s on my mind and what I am thinking. It’s how I see things and challenge myself to learn and see beyond what I currently think or see. Reading is my fuel.. I love reading and watching stuff too because it’s the way I bounce these conversations between my thoughts and the world, to see that someone is thinking similarly, or differently and deeper than I am about something.
Reading and writing are two of the most beautiful things humans can do. It is art in its purest form.
Which is why I think —
art is subjective
people like to pretend art is either good or bad when it really is just a case of “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.” It’s as absurd as saying some people are ugly and others beautiful. I mean this with all seriousness because if you leave the shores of social media, you will realise there are people willing to die for who ugly-shame. There are absolute truths in life — like God. But most things in life are about perspective, not on a spectrum, but perspective.Things that exist on their own, not within a range or standards. If you can’t tell by now, my favourite word is “perspective” because it describes how I see the world — in my perspective. I understand that my view of the world is shaped by all the experiences, learning, thinking and reflecting i’ve done in my life and life is a journey of collecting perspectives like pieces of a puzzle until you die or Jesus comes. It’s not possible to have all the right perspectives even if we lived up to 1000, and I think it’s what makes life beautiful. That we’re all perspectives part of bigger perspectives – you, your family, community, city, country, continent and the world (or planet). It is why we have different cultures and ways of life which are not on a spectrum of culture ranging from this to that, but exist on their own and evolving as people’s perspectives evolve.
I have things that I personally classify as bad or good art. An example of bad art is untruthful storytelling. I read parts of Stephen King’s “On Writing” book the last time I went to the bookstore and there was the part where he talked about telling the truth in storytelling and I was ecstatic because I think about it alot. When you’re story-lying, it’s not because what you’re saying isn’t truth (especially in fiction which is where I encounter story-lies), because let’s face it, the entire story is made up, but because I can clearly see you forcing your character to be a certain way that reads inorganic to me. I’m not sure I’m explaining this well, maybe avid readers and writers will get this. For example a clearly struggling character is on all fronts “politically correct” and “morally upright” when you say their struggle. Why are they struggling if they’re perfect? Tbh I can see why, it’s clear to me but it’s not true in your narration.
Good art, to me, is when you truthfully tell a story. Although you are writing fiction, even if it is a fantasy, your character is still very real and human (even if they are animals because if they can talk and have human emotions, go all the way!). This means it’s okay to have parts of the character some will dislike or like!
Which leads me to —
politically correct, 2024.
believe me when I say this is not a political column, i am concerned as a human being whose most existing experience as a writer and reader is being transported into people’s perspective. The freedom and joy to see things differently and see what we can pick and choose to form new views because life is not black or white. Neither is life on a spectrum of black to white. Life is a culmination of many many complex things that are unique to people, families, cultures and regions. I hate that for a generation, a generation I love and that rode on the horses of diversity, we’re becoming homogeneous, bullying everyone that doesn’t think or act like us.
I miss when people liked things because they did and not because it was a statement or political agenda. There’s beauty in different perspectives no matter how uncomfortable they may seem. Let’s at least hear people out before we cancel them or at last a group will prevail or succeed in scaring others off and life would be boring, at least online and in the media.