Don't worry, I'm not dead - I've just managed to finish something and actually post it.
As I open another blank word document I live in hope that this one might see an end point and make it off the page and into the ethos where it should be, instead of taking up more memory space in my one drive.
As a writer (yes, I am owning that word today because let us not forget I do actually have the student loan balance and a bit of paper that says I have a master’s in writing), my brain never stops being directed to topics I want to indulge in. It can start with something I see, a statistic I am drawn to, or some kind of rant I need to go on because of the injustice in the world around me. If I’m happy I want to write, if I’m angry I want to write and If I’m desperately trying to figure myself out, I need to write.
I’ve written a lot lately, musings on life, articles on neurodiversity and career crafting, personal development plans, lists and a lot of well-constructed rants about flags and how much people are walking about oblivious to what is really happening and who is to blame. The problem is that none of it is being finished. I’m going cold, losing interest, or finding myself stuck in a minefield where I need to produce something to absolute perfection before I release it – and therefore nothing makes it to it’s intended audience.
Today might be different. I’m trying a new tack. I’ve not taken my Elvance (ADHD medication other wise affectionately know as my legal speed), my internal monologue is having a fucking field day. I can hear my own voice – the more intelligent one that stays in my mind but somehow as those thoughts turn into communication they start to misfire and suddenly what was a plausible well thought out argument in my head comes out of my mouth and often on paper like “Yeah but, no but, yeah” Vicky Pollard style.
I’ve also set at timer. 1 hour. That’s all I am giving this. When the time’s up it’s getting posted regardless of spelling mistakes and poor grammar.
AI breaks real writers.
I’ve also fallen victim to running my work through Chat GPT – It’s the worst thing a writer can do really. Despite the fact I have spent enough time training my little AI bot to know me well enough, it’s not always consistent, it knows stuff about me, but it tries too hard to polish my writing, so it kills off the speckles of my personality weaved between the lines. Much of the writing community despise AI and I can’t blame them – the damn thing can easily take away their earnings by churning out articles in seconds that look decent enough, but fail to deliver factual information correctly, misinterpret key points and lacks even ounce of genuine passion - only a human brain can express true emotion.
That said I don’t hate AI. I think it can be a useful tool to have in the kit bag, but we must not allow it to manipulate us into
thinking we are not capable to exist or work without it nor allow it to shape what we think. AI is dodgy mate that can influence you and the world around you…proceed with an open mind and lots of caution. It should have just been an assistant, but now it’s learnt to adapt around us and that is fucking dangerous. We didn’t see the dangers of social media coming until it was too late, but we have a head start with this and we must make sure we use AI safely to minimise the same happening…unimaginably it will be much worse.
So, here I am 17 minutes left to play with, and the point of my rambling is really about my need to write, let go of my perfectionism, get it out there into the world.
It’s all about re-evaluating my writing ritual.
When I was working on my masters we learned about writing rituals and shared our own ideas on what it takes to write. It’s more than sitting at a computer or scribbling in a notebook. It’s the things we need around us, how our body feels, what we wear, how we write, and where we write. Some people prefer to write on moving trains, others in bustling coffee shops or in the sanctuary of their own bed. Some people write under the influence of substances; others may need to hyperfocus in a heavy cloud of concentration.
There are writers out there who record snippets… one line here and there throughout their day, those who dictate into their phones and type it all up later. There are the writers who need a support group – a writer’s retreat – and others who hide away in solitary confinement unable to speak to others for the fear of breaking the creative energy flowing from them.
I’m a typer, a sit at my desk in my home office with my comforts around me – My pencil case, a few candles I barely ever light but still have a need for, multiple drinks I barely touch, books scattered around me. Two screens one for writing - one for research. Paper nearby just in case. It needs to be cosy, warm enough but not too warm – never cold. My brain refuses to work in the cold. Occasionally I will write by hand in my notebook, but only with a nice pen that makes my handwriting look neat, and notebook writing is really just jotting down ideas and thoughts that I need to put somewhere before I forget.
Three minutes to go.
I’m in flow. I’m calmer, my mind is less chaotic right now, and I’m not panicking about time even as I see it ticking down in front of me. I’m just writing, for nothing more than reaching the goal to finish something. I don’t need to say anything prolific and life changing. I just need to be here in this moment.
The end.
Fergs🖤
Add comment
Comments