In that I mentioned smugly that I had two columns published in the Londonpaper. Increasingly, however, it's seeming pathetic when I tell people, "oh, yah, I wrote a couple of times for that rag..."
"really?" they'll ask, "when and what about?".
"err, once two years ago and once about a year ago. The first time about an inability to grow a beard and the second about rescuing a fly from my pint". Cue a kind of stunned silence, metaphorical tumbleweed landing in our drinks and a quick change of subject.
It's not that I don't want to write anything, it's just so bloody difficult to come up with something worth writing about. It's kind of like when you graduate from university - you spend four years thinking you're the dogs bollocks, of equal stature to your peers, and then suddenly, without any real warning, you're thrust blinking and unsteady in the big bright world at large. You can do whatever you want. You just have to have a goal and you can achieve it.
As I feel is apparent with the blog, I was much better at writing when I had specific subject matter - namely the first 10K and the people who were sponsoring me on my way to running it. Now I have to generate my own chat, and I'm honestly at a bit of a loss. Likewise with the columns, the first time I wrote one I was able to do it without pressure or fear of failure, because I was just doing something new. Once I'd done it, and got 100% "more" from the readers, I found myself under all kinds of self-initiated pressure to maintain the standard and found I couldn't, a feeling only compounded by not hitting the mark the second time around.
As another columnist from the paper proved, it's only the talented few who can be given free-wheeling remit to write about whatever the hell takes their fancy and still make it witty and entertaining. There used to be a very entertaining column called "City Boy", where a faceless banker laid bare the dark(er) side of investment banking. However, it only worked when he was doing the job and when he was unknown. As soon as he quit his job and was unmasked, the quality of his column has plummeted. All he can think to write about these days are idle musings and boasts on his new found "celebrity". It hasn't helped that he turned out to be nothing like the mental image I had built up in my head, instead resembling a nerdy IT bloke. Trying to reconcile this image with the tales of romancing and financial derring do just doesn't work.
Even my favourite columnists from the Guardian - Jon Ronson and Charlie Brooker - have parameters in which to work. One writes (or wrote) about his life as a 30-40-something middle class father, whilst the other is given free reign to destroy whatever TV detritus wanders into his sights. I suppose the difference is, those "spontaneous" writers have the ability to form ideas in their head and mold something meaningful around them.
The column is, of course, just an example of the bigger picture. The only problem with a lifetime of encouragement and confidence building from my parents and friends is that I believe I could actually do anything if I put my mind to it - I just don't know what. And rather than try a load of different things or devote any real time to investigating my motivations, I instead plod along in a McJob and lament never getting to where I don't realise I want to go.
Bah. Just think - if I'd had more imagination, you wouldn't have had to just sit through all that. Am off to watch Family Guy. That'll help.
No comments:
Post a Comment