the bullshit of writing in the age of the internet

i haven’t felt motivated to write this week, and it’s hard to not get in my head about it. especially following a couple of weeks of feeling that fire in my belly, that strong desire to pour words, thoughts onto the page with a fervor i hope will last but never seems to.

but i have been reading, so i guess that counts for something?

well, to be clear, i have written some. a couple of medium posts i start and then stop because the words don’t feel right, the thoughts don’t feel fully formed. and i don’t want to be yet another person screaming into the void, offering my “hot take” clickbait.

cause god, there is so much gimmicky shit out there. so much urgency around content creation that people write article after article on every current event, every thought that pops into their head, whether or not they’ve given it much consideration or dedicated much research to it.

the amount of clickbait articles on medium is so cringey. (so i guess this is pretty much me just talking shit now)

but really, it sucks. to see writing watered down to content creation. to see people rewarded for churning on consistently mediocre content.

i guess i’m protective of writing, see it as something sacred, something someone is called to do. so doing it in the name of followers and staying “relevant” whether or not you actually feel called to talk about something irks me.

although there are much more significant reasons around why i haven’t really tried to be a professional writer, one of them is because writing isn’t something i want to do to live, something i’m expected to do on command. i don’t want it to become something hollow.

and that’s what it feels like it’s become on so many platforms, for so many writers. it’s a compilation of hot takes and listicles and clickbait titles.

and the worst part is that it seems to work. which is probably the equivalent of the hot chick posting daily selfies on instagram compared to the photographer posting their work with inconsistency because fuck, was art ever meant to be consistent?

of course there are working artists and i tip my hat to them. and there are loads of artists who consistently create content that doesn’t feel shallow or compromised. so i’m not trying to create a binary here.

but our culture of constant consumption. our prioritization of quantity over quality. our expectation to be inspired on a daily basis, to be able to create on demand. our need to stay relevant.. it’s too fucking much.

and once again, for those who can do it without compromising themselves, i’m legit jealous. but for the rest of us, those of us who want to create in an organic manner, who want to feel valid without having to be perpetually “relevant,” it fucking sucks.

and there seems to be a general lack of appreciation and deep engagement, because we’re all busy scrolling to the next thing and the next thing and the next thing. (i’m as guilty of this as anyone.)

so even in moments when we do come across something spectacular, how long does it hold our attention?

so not only does the act of creating feel like it gets hollowed out, so does the act of engagement..

i mean, shouldn’t there be space for writing for writing’s sake? don’t we want people who write simply because it sets their soul on fire (or keeps them from losing their mind)? don’t we want people to create without some sort of external goal in mind?

don’t we want people who don’t commodify their art, themselves, and their expression?

fuck, i know i do.

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