Summary

The author reflects on the value of their current writing endeavors compared to their past fiction work, ultimately finding meaning in the impact their writing has on readers.

Abstract

The author, who has transitioned from writing fiction to more varied content, contemplates whether their current writing is meaningful or simply disposable in the face of an ever-growing sea of online content. Despite the transient nature of their work on the platform, they find validation in the profound responses from readers, which underscores the importance of their writing. The author acknowledges the impermanence of all creative work but takes solace in the connections formed with their audience through their writing. They remain inspired by their partner's fiction writing and maintain hope to return to their own fiction projects in the future.

Opinions

The author expresses self-doubt about the significance of their non-fiction writing compared to their previous fiction work.
They recognize the fleeting nature of online content and question the longevity of their work.
The author values reader engagement and feedback as indicators of their writing's impact.
They believe that the meaning of writing is subjective and can vary greatly from person to person.
Despite the prevalence of content they find meaningless, the author appreciates the diversity of voices and stories online.
The author has not lost their passion for fiction writing and plans to pursue it when circumstances allow.
They accept the impermanence of all human endeavors, including their writing, but still find joy and purpose in the act of creation and sharing.

Words, Blogs, Writing, and Meaning

Am I wasting my time here?

The folders on my hard drive are in two-year increments going back to Fiction 1996/97. All the fiction I’ve managed to complete and publish — here and very rarely in traditional venues — are in those folders (and, yes, they’re backed up and even co-located). I had to start a new one at the beginning of 2020 and it just struck me today that I named that folder Writing 2020/21.

Not Fiction.

Because I seldom write fiction anymore. And, yes, it does get to me at times. Am I wasting my time here? Shouldn’t I be focusing on crafting engaging fiction? Spending days and even weeks weaving and unraveling and reweaving stories until I either get it right or give up? Isn’t that more meaningful than writing daily about not wearing a bra, the death of an unpleasant and deeply unhappy woman, lousy jobs I’ve had, cats, dumb mistakes I’ve made, stuff going on in my neighborhood, the “leaders” of our country and their bone-headed moves, pornography, tongue in cheek “advice” for writers, my Mom, the ever-popular Coronavirus, sex, spiritual platitudes, intact penises, current events, and what it was like to be in Tilda Swinton’s arms?

I do wonder if the thousands and thousands of words I string together in the whatever-this-stuff-is that I write now is nothing but disposable, meaningless crap. Right now in every state, in every country, in every hemisphere, there are millions of people writing writing writing, hoping to catch readers’ eyes and attention. And a lot of them are much better at this than I am.

And yet all of it is constantly being shoved down by the daily barrage of new content. When the work of a writer as talented and incredibly readable as Tim Kreider slides into oblivion on these sites, what hope is there for the rest of us hammering away at our keyboards?

Usually, I can slough those thoughts off. After all, it’s not a piece of cake here, writing and publishing and promoting new content nearly daily. What I do takes discipline, focus, and nerves of steel. And, while I’m not even close to covering my rent or anything like that with these piles o’words, every so often I am blessed with something so much more substantial and meaningful than my tiny monthly token payments (for which I am duly grateful).

For example:

Sometimes, you are just scrolling down on Medium and you suddenly find that someone wrote exactly what you needed to read in this precise moment of your life.

Thank you. There are tears in my eyes now.

And for the same piece:

This article couldn't be more important. Thank you for sharing these wise words.

So, in answer to my own question, yes what I do here on a nearly daily basis disappears almost as soon as I hit publish. What I wrote six months ago, six weeks ago, six days ago, it’s gone. It’s vanished except for the fact that I’ve saved all of it (and backed it up).

But my work here is not meaningless when someone takes the time to send me messages like those above.

And who’s to say whose work is meaningful or meaningless? I find a tremendous amount of the work published here to be utterly meaningless as well as flat out boring AF. To me. However, it must have some value if only to the people who keep writing and publishing it. What do I know? The piece that prompted those (to me) incredibly powerful responses probably elicited countless rolled eyes and heavy sighs.

Have I completely given up on writing fiction?

Oh, hell no. The bug is still there and can’t be ignored forever. When my financial situation improves, I’ll start seriously shopping around for an editor for “Graceless”. In the meantime, I have this partner who writes the most original, intricate, sometimes bizarre and always wonderful fiction. He’s a constant source of inspiration.

And, come on, even our reliable old sun is impermanent. Everything gets buried and forgotten. There will be a day when no one will know who Mozart or Einstein or Cher was. Ok, the entire species may have to go extinct for that to happen but it will happen.

In the meantime, I have this. You have this. Let’s savor it and then not worry too much about meaningfulness or what will last, k?

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