The Pain of Not Writing

I went amid the books and sucked in the air; it was like oxygen after the stench of the brothel.

Aravind Adiga, White Tiger

Writing in public is strange. My mind constructs an artificial audience and thinks about them often, like "what will my legion of fans say if I write X." In reality, it's my eighteen subscribers of friends and family (whom I love), but once I release these posts onto the internet anyone can read my writing. It's this possibility that holds me accountable for transmuting my curiosity into art.

Writing here is deeply necessary for me. Before I heard of Courtland Allen's idea of forcing functions, I decided to start a blog to force myself to write plainly. In the past, it let me say what I struggle with, what I'm hopeful about, and what I find beautiful in the world. Hugo Amsellem rightly called it exercise. It's oxygen after the stench of our social media brothel.

My last post on here is dated more than a month ago. Every week I play with a new idea but don't bring it to completion. The list of unfinished posts haunts me; as if every spark I light won't burn as a flame. The constant putting off is a surface cause; the larger issue requires that I simplify my life. As a result, I won't be writing on this blog until March.

As many of you know, I'm writing a book about the ideas I investigate on my podcast. The book-writing process demands that I write multiple times a week, and it's unfair to the people I interview, myself, and everyone supporting me if I don't give this book my full attention. The book will release in August, and I will give all of my subscribers a copy if they want one. The podcast will continue, and I will stay active on Twitter.

In the meantime, I want to support other creators who will hopefully continue writing publicly in my absence. Supplement this blog with Shreyas' incisive insights on politics and culture, Jodi Sy's beautiful juxtaposition of art and science, and Nathan Leung's surreal ability to communicate what we're all feeling.