“Every now and then,” explained Welsh valley songstress Bonnie Tyler, “I fall apart.” This can lead to the total eclipse of her heart. I know how she feels.
The life of a largely unknown and unread writer occasionally has its moments of sheer joy, like when someone buys me a coffee or just says something nice about something I have written. Mostly, it’s the satisfaction of having written something, anything at all. The factual errors, the typos are all mine. And when I fuck up big time, there is no one else to blame.
Writing without an editor, a filter, a lawyer and a proofreader can lead to problems, like issues regarding copyright. This plays heavy on my head, knowing that a ton of bricks is just waiting to fall on me, and on a bad day, like today it’s all too much.
I’ve had the odd issue over the years, with a major national newspaper and a national TV station, as well as with certain copyright issues. The main reason I write is because I have to. It alleviates my depression, it can soothe my ADHD, neither of which are ideal conditions for writing without fear. Normally, I get by. Now, I am getting close to the end of my tether, fearful of how I might fuck up again and what the consequences might be.
I have turned myself into an honest person. Not that I was ever an out-and-out liar, but I was very cynical and had a flexible attitude towards the truth. But total honesty still means compromise in my writing. When I need to write most is when I am down and nearly out and that is when I get things wrong.
Maybe it’s time to dial back on the quantity and concentrate on quality. There is no such thing as free speech for the working class woman or man, as there is for the better-off who can afford all the things, lawyers, proofreaders and the like, that I can’t. And that isn’t going to change anytime soon.
I’ve been content for this blog, and my other writing, to run at a loss over the years because my losses are modest and just about affordable. But is the angst and stress for fear of getting something terribly wrong justifiable at a time when I am lurching into old age? Stress and anxiety are probably not ideal companions for the old at heart.
I’ll certainly be paring back on the content over the summer, not least because my readership numbers are through the floor. I’m not going to stop writing, unless I lose the rest of my marbles but it may not be on here. We shall see.
Thanks for your support over the years. I’ve been a lucky man.
