Around the time I reached my third decade, something flipped inside of me. I had this sudden urge to do something creative. In my time at university, any excess energy was channeled into studying. And after metamorphing into a working adult, most of my time was then spent doing rote administrative tasks with varying degrees of satisfaction. I really needed to do something for my own satisfaction.
I have always committed a lot of writing. I put it like that, because I did not consider myself as a writer who wrote. Crafting long papers and articles is par for the course being academically trained, but there was always a workman’s blunt edge to it. It was something you did by necessity, not for the inherent value of putting words on paper. At work I had some exposure with writing text that needed to be compelling — in addition to the information it conveyed. But in my type of job you are always writing on behalf of someone — often multiple parties who do not necessarily see eye to eye. It is as much an act of negotiation as it is a creative process.
I have started a blog. This blog. That is the bottom-line for this post really. But why a blog, really? Well there were multiple catalysts, each building on each other. And they have made me come to a line of thinking that I find to be valuable.
It all started with something as innocuous as media threads. I hate to admit it, but I was jealous of my mutuals on social media who tracked which games they had played year after year. So, I started using the logging site backloggd.com. And I realized that I enjoyed writing small, personal reviews of the games I finished. Reflecting on my experience with something is a neat exercise. Even if it can feel like a hassle in the moment, I am better off for having done it.
But you know, the thing about backloggd is that — at its heart — it is another social media platform. You can have Friends, your Ratings and Reviews are public and users can Like and Comment on them. Which feels nice. Getting validation.
Oh no.
See, now I would feel a twang of annoyance when my witty and insightful musing garnered NO response. The gall of these people.
That is the nature of attaching your writing to a platform like that. The value of what you write ceases to be intrinsic and becomes something extraneous. And so it warps the writing, because you begin chasing that response. I dipped my toes in making video essays on Youtube last year. I genuinely love the process of fiddling with all the moving parts of a video production. Even if it is extremely challenging. But the thing about making content for Youtube is that the metrics are such an overwhelming force that it overshadows whatever intent you went into it with.
There is not just a symbiotic ecosystem of metrics and algorithms. There is an entire subculture of people trying to divine the signs from the machine. The metrics are such a large inescapable part of Youtube. It is right in your face and it inarguably matters a lot if you want to be successful on the platform. Only 40% retention on the first 30 seconds? Oof, yeah. Might better rethink what you are doing there chief.
For a while I caught myself regularly opening the Youtube Studio app just to get a slight dopamine hit. Which is amazingly silly on my part. What does it matter that 17 people clicked on my video thumbnail today?
The issue probably stems from the size of a video project. A video production is a layered effort. The script, voice over and visuals rest atop each other. If there is an issue with one of the lower layers, the effort it takes to fix is multiplied. At my current capacity, I will often leave in lesser errors in my videos, simply because addressing them would cause a cascade effect that I would have to untangle.
When you have spent a staggering amount of hours producing something, you want that effort to be reflected in the reception. But the script itself is arguably the least time intensive part of the process. While it is probably the most important part, it is also far off in the distance for me at the time a video is done. So, while writing scripts for Youtube videos is fun and creatively satisfying, there is still some disconnect. The process ends up becoming so slow and abstracted that it becomes detached from my inner urges.
I have followed the Australian game developer Joe Wintergreen long enough that I cannot really remember why. He is one of those ephemeral figures that just exist in my mind as a Poster. But Joe is a pretty cool guy with consistently good takes. And the thing about Joe is that he does not just tweet and skeet. He writes long form posts on his blog. An honest to god blog.
It is not even a Substack or some other snazzy new thing. It is a completely regular personal website with his own name on it. When I first saw him sharing a blog post, I thought to myself »who the hell has a blog nowadays?« It felt to me like something that had its limited window of coolness in the naughts, and then we collectively moved on. Why not just write a thread on the social media site you already use? But Joe had a compelling reasoning for the split:
The tone of the post is humorous, but I am confident that the message is 100 % sincere. I — like many others — are what you would call low-key addicted to microblogging in today’s parlance. While I like it, I think Joe is probably right in that a tweet cannot contain my Big Thoughts. And in a similar vein, an unwieldy Youtube video is probably not a good habitat for those thoughts either.
One of my former coworkers was trained as a journalist. One time he came to my desk with an opinion piece and asked for my feedback. It had been International Women’s Day and stories in the media had provoked something from him. So instead of doing what I would have done — simmering in annoyance — he committed his thoughts to paper, as if he would submit it to a newspaper. Actually doing so was not the point, but if he went through that familiar process of turning his thoughts into a product, he could also leave them behind with no baggage. If it turned out well he might do something with the text — otherwise he would just leave it be. I marveled at that approach. Just spend time writing something and then not do anything with it?
For my part he had clocked me as a Woke person and wanted my critique. So I read the text and said my piece. I am not sure what he took from it or whether it matters. What I learned was that writing is not solely a method for making stuff. It is also a process of self-reflection. Anyone who regularly writes will probably think well duh here. The entire process of journaling exists, where the entire purpose is to write text that no one will probably read. But even if I knew that rationally, actually experiencing that effect is something different. I am not sure I can stop writing now. It has become something akin to jogging for me. A mental health exercise.
I still do not feel competent as a writer. Indeed, I think less of myself as a writer and more as someone who writes. »Writer«. There is a proficiency implied. A pride in your craft. I feel embarrassed evoking that. This is something I do for my own enjoyment. I do not apply the rigor or discipline to writing where I would feel comfortable taking pride in it. I simply do not feel like I am good enough.
But my revelation was a simple one. Of course I am not good enough. Why would I be good at something I have not seriously been doing?
»I am not good enough to do this — so I will not do it.« There is an inherent paradox in this attitude, since you will never be good at something if you abstain from it in the first place. I do not have the diligence to toil away at something for the abstract, far-off goal of becoming good. That is my flaw as a human being. And the only remedy for this is discarding the notion that I have to excel. I need to enjoy sucking at something.
Even the tantalizing thought of »well, if I just do enough of this, maybe I will eventually become good at it without even trying!« is a dead end. You need to exorcise that thought completely. Even if it feels innocuous, it will sneak into your periphery and eventually lead to dejection. »Why am I not improving?« »Why do I not get a proper reaction?« »Am I even capable of doing this?« You need to just do it.
So, I write now. I sat up an entire website, just so I could host my own writing. There are no likes, no algorithm, no subscriber count. I do not even know where I can look up the metrics which I am sure are counted somewhere. Even right now I debate myself over whether I should even share the posts on Bluesky.
But I do want to people to read what I write. Even if that is not the primary purpose.