I’ve given up writing. Blogging, publishing books, articles on Medium. The lot.
It’s my New Year’s resolution. I used to write about everything from yoga to mining, medicine to child abuse. There were devastating insights into the relationship between gambling and writing competitions, and also teddies I wrote a lot about both New Zealand and Australia. I’ve realised, however, that the internet has reached saturation. Everyone can write. And now, everyone does. There’s no need for me to contribute to it.
I enjoy writing, editing less so. And yet, I seemed to spend more time editing my work than producing it. In fact, the biggest hurdle to writing was the thought of editing it later.
I started this blog in 2004. Initially, I never edited a bloody thing. The readership was high, and I was re-published fairly frequently, such was the twitching churn of internetty politics and culture. So, I started editing my work. Not a lot, just a once-over-lightly for clarity.
Mostly I blogged as a way of working through a set of thoughts or issues. Sometimes I’d revisit them, researching facts or writing them up as an article to be as widely ignored as the original blog post. I thought that there was value in writing as a discipline, a way of organising my thoughts, making a coherent argument, exploring an issue.
Shock twist! There isn’t.
So, it’s with a sense of relief that I abandon writing. I’ve published a couple of books, some short stories and recorded the odd thing for the ABC. It’s been a good run.
I’ll probably still scribble down the odd thing from time to time. And it’s likely I’ll post some garbled shit on this blog occasionally too, but the half-finished manuscripts, articles and research are all headed for the bin. After all, if no-one reads your work then you’re just writing a diary. And who wants to read that?