Can writing really make a difference?
Why it's hard to be positive right now...
By and large I’d say I was an optimistic person. Or maybe cautiously optimistic. Or more hopeful than optimistic… But whatever I am and however I might choose to describe myself, it’s difficult to be optimistic at the moment.
Rioting on the streets of UK cities by thugs, racists and opportunists; people who possibly have no other way of venting their anger - or who choose to set fire to cars, loot shops and throw bricks at the police as soon as they’re given half an excuse for doing so.
Global stock markets tanking because the commercial AI bubble is bursting (there’s a surprise!) and investors are worried the US is about to catch an economic cold.
Meanwhile the Middle East is on the verge of war because of history, religion, and leaders who are too narrow-minded and lack the emotional intelligence to do anything other than peddle the same old arguments.
Just as in Russia. And with Ukraine on the brink, the rest of us are likely to be dragged to the precipice too.
And closer to home, a sudden heart condition that leaves me feeling intensely uncertain; the discovery (today) that I have osteoarthritis in my right hip; and suffering next door’s cockerel who kicks-off at 4 a.m. and won’t shut the fuck up…!
So being optimistic’s difficult, wouldn’t you agree?
Yet I keep plugging away at my work, going through the motions; drafting the bones of a new novel (in the form of a monologue), scratching out the odd poem, and writing a non-fiction book about writing.
Oh, and talking to a small segment of a more sane world through Substack.
And even though the violence, the whims of the markets, and the decisions of flawed leaders are more immediate, there are voices who continue to claim that our creative efforts matter, that what we do - write, paint, sculpt, compose - will ultimately allow us to be victorious.
But what if I stop my novel, my poems, my non-fiction book? If I hang-up my mentoring boots, cease running writing groups, stop trying to get performing gigs? What happens? What impact would my ‘stopping’ have?
None. Not in the grand scheme of things.
Except…
Except doing so would be to admit defeat, wouldn’t it? And by doing so, admit that everyone else - the thugs, the incompetent leaders, the selfish money men - would have won. Victory by default. And even if I gave up, I would still be subject to their whims, the impact of their decisions.
And I would be a smaller person as a result…
So here’s another shout-out, a lone voice in a world grown too big and complex. Or too small and ignorant.
Maybe I should cut off an ear - or just go and strangle that cockerel…!
[But here’s a positive ending, me with a kangaroo in Australia (taken in 2015). A kangaroo’s fur is really soft - in case you didn’t know…]
Please keep writing. You need to keep writing because, ultimately, it's what you do. There doesn't need to be any larger purpose other than that it's what you want, what you like, and, ultimately, it satisfies some urge inside. It's like why we keep pets and feed them and take care of them when they're sick and mourn them when they pass...because it fills a need for something outside ourselves and in the end it's worth it, even if it hurts. A lot sometimes.
That's just life, right?
I hope the health problems get resolved to the point you are that dreaded word 'comfortable'. You might produce that master piece- after all Frank McCourt was 62 when he wrote Angela's Ashes. I also think that without modern medicine most authors in the past would have written while n some degree of pain during their lives.