Walden Cabin: Observations typed on an old Underwood

No Mordecai Richler

I’ve only been a freelance writer for a year or so, and I’m suffering from writer’s block. This really sucks. What has happened is I don’t trust myself. Not that I suddenly don’t, but that I realize I never really have. Lately, I’ve written a few things that I thought were really good, but that actually totally sucked (hmm, there’s that word again. I’m going to just leave it). And as soon as my editor wife hands back the draft I know she’s right. The problem is I have a problem with being honest.

Suzy’s no slouch when it comes to writing. She breathes in books. I trust her judgement, and she knows me better than anyone else. So when she tells me to cut the crap and get to the facts, I have to listen. She keeps saying: “Don’t be so grandiose” (an otherwise wonderful word), and “Write like you talk.” Well, I’m, uh, not sure how. It’s hard. Even my therapist says (over and over) that a good writer never self-censors. Yet, there has to be a balance between being honest and wondering if anyone really cares. A friend told me recently that I’m an exhibitionist, and he’s a willing voyeur, and therefore I should keep writing in this Web site. I’m not sure if it was friendly advice or a warning.

But what would happen if I really wrote what I think? This is what gets me – and what holds me back. So if I spin facts into pseudo prose, waving my hands at the screen and puffing up the language, I guess it could be because I’m really afraid of what people think, or worse, that they won’t care at all. If I just put it out there without any subtle nuances or lessons, what’s the point? It may be no better than the other stuff, and I’ll offend a lot of people in the process. But then, Mordecai Richler didn’t worry about this. That reminds me that another friend once told me “You’re no Mordecai Richler.” I was offended. I thought he meant I couldn’t write. Maybe he meant that I just didn’t have the guts to.

So I’m stuck. Suzy says I should take some writing courses, which I will. But I wonder how a class can teach you to be honest. I wasn’t concerned about any of this until a few months ago. Since I went on the 10-day silent meditation camp in February, I’ve wrestled with this whole self awareness thing. What the brochure didn’t say was that the down side of self awareness is the inevitable discovery of stuff about yourself that you don’t like but have to live with or work like hell to undo.

So here is a little glimpse into the life of Stuart Hickox, for the record:

- I no longer believe in God – not the one I was told about, anyway. There, I said it. Sort of.

- I still listen to 80s music, including the Pet Shop Boys when I’m running.

- I’m still really angry about how stupid the adults around me were when I was a kid.

- I’ve wasted a lot of time worrying that I was gay because I like flowers, silk underwear and, well, the Pet Shop Boys. I blame the stupid adults.

- Last week I found a black Hallowe’en jellybean under the bed and I ate it.

That’s enough for tonight.