My Linguistic Labor: Day 3

The edges begin to fray (3,045 / 1,000,000)

It’s been roughly twenty four hours since I last wrote a thousand words, but oddly enough I’ve found myself thinking about many different things that I would like to write about in the time between.

I discussed with one of my biggest fans the benefits of a public journal (accountability), versus the drawbacks (creative friction). This brief conversation got me thinking - am I adjusting the way I write or the content that I write because I know that other people could read this? My instinctual answer is no, but of course that’s what I would like to think. The correct answer is probably yes, subtly.

I know for a fact that committing to something wholeheartedly is something that causes friction for myself in my head. I’m not sure if this is the case for many other people, or any other people at all, but I find authenticity to be a vulnerable state. I don’t mean to suggest that I exist in a perpetual state of spuriousness, but specifically being authentically creative is scary business. People may say that they create for themselves, and they don’t let other people’s opinions affect them, but I’m doubtful of that. Creating something is, in my opinion, an inherently outward facing experience. All this mess is already in my head, I can enjoy my own thoughts all the time and at any time. But to put it “on paper” and post it is to suggest that I think other people could value it. Well not this specifically, because I’m just here to practice. Wait… If I were just practicing, I could just do this in like Microsoft Word or something, and not worry about other people thinking this whole thing is just a giant waste of time. In fact, there are probably at least a few people who are wondering why the hell they are still even reading these words right now. Wow this paragraph is chunky, time to abruptly change the subject.

So anyway, I was thinking about voice. This is the voice that I normally write in. Actually this is the only voice that I know how to write in. Can you hear it? Does it sound different from when you read an article? A novel? I hope so. Wait. Do I? I don’t know. If you know me, does this voice sound like my spoken voice? Is a voice something that a writer intentionally molds into a desired shape? Or is a writer’s voice an immutable characteristic which stems from their personality? That’s my last question, I promise. I could probably google any of those questions and find like eight books written by long-deceased French dudes that answer those exact questions. But I’m not interested in old French dudes! Where was I going with this..? Damn, I asked another question.

Oh yeah, voice. This next paragraph will be a deliberate experiment to modify the voice in which I write. The experiment, which has already begun, will entail a forbearance of any flippant remarks, an adamant adherence to proper grammar, and most importantly an absolute zero-tolerance policy regarding two-word sentences. I find myself typing slower, the torrent of words that are eager to escape my mind through my fingers are now being bottlenecked and filtered. I find myself grappling with the intention to make jest at anyone who would write in this way unironically. In fact, I find that mentioning the fact that I am writing in this way ironically to be a breach of the spirit of this experiment, if not the letter. I have failed, and I will now depart this paragraph in shame, never to return.

Whew, now that that’s over with I am typing at a hundred miles an hour again. It feels like I’m home free, woohoo! Can you believe I said I would strictly adhere to grammar? I don’t even know what that means. I wouldn’t recognize proper grammar if it crawled into my ear, laid eggs in my brain, and then those eggs hatched and took over my brain, piloting my body like Plankton did to SpongeBob. I feel like giving my readers literary whiplash is part of my personality - it’s not a bug, it’s a feature!

But seriously, there’s nothing wrong with writing… seriously. In fact, if I’m to write a book or something, I would need to master the art of the serious voice, wouldn’t I? I sense an impending training montage on my horizon. Cut to me sitting under a waterfall, writing complete sentences free from 90’s cartoon references. Jump cut to me typing slowly and purposefully, a pile of books balanced on my head. Jump cut again to my mentor, slapping me in the face and telling me to stop using the phrase “jump cut” in writing, it’s weird and out of place. Fade to black. How much meta is too meta?

When beginning this challenge, I didn’t intend to address specific topics. Actually, I didn’t have any intentions at all for this, except of course to write a thousand words a day. Nevertheless, we discussed creative authenticity, and voice today. I’m finding that forcing my jumbled thoughts into coherent sentences is cathartic. My raw thoughts feel like the gross animal parts that nobody would eat by themselves, and my organized, written thoughts feel like a sausage. Sure, the contents are still gross and unappealing, but if you stuff it into an intestine and don’t think about it too hard, suddenly it’s edible! Ah yes, there’s nothing like shrouding your insecurities behind a thin veil of meta jokes and a thick spread of self-deprecating sarcasm.

Speaking of internal crises, tomorrow I think I’m going to experiment with writing dialogue. I’ve tried writing dialogue before, and let me tell you, that shit is hard. I think there are some feelings that are impossible to convey without having the back and forth of dialogue. Just look at this page, it’s a one-sided barrage of (very) loosely linked, undeveloped ideas raining down upon my dear readers, with almost no contrasting ideas; besides that one paragraph where I tried to get serious, but we don’t talk about that guy. As always…

Totally Nailed It,

Michael