The Art of Not Writing a Goddamn Thing
A healthy dollop of Idleness is essential for your creativity.
When I was a teenager my dream was to be a great novelist. Forget best-sellers; I wanted to create work that would stand the test of time. So, with this lofty goal at the back of my mind, I collected obscure words, read dense literary fiction, and boasted about my grasp of the English language.
There was one niggling problem — I rarely actually wrote.
Occasionally, when I had the muses’ favor, I’d pen some purple prose and, naturally, believe these flights of fancy manifestations of genius. In reality, despite my self-aggrandizing, I was a tourist, a dilettante, a drug-addled Don Quixote, a baby proud he’d just learnt to walk.
Now, with my hair silvering and libido waning, I can say, without ego or pretension, that I’m an excellent writer — and I bloody well better be given the countless hours I’ve sunk into this craft.
However, my relationship with the art of letters has changed. No more idling around waiting for a beam of light to pierce the clouds; I have emails to stress about, deadlines to meet, virtual meetings to attend. Yes, now I write for a living — and guess what? Those fucking muses are nowhere to be seen.
