On Writing #7: Write Nothing

Normally it would be Chau writing to you. But not today.

Hi,

I’m Patrick - Chau’s creative ghost. I name myself after Chau’s first ever “boyfriend” in 3rd grade, to shame her of course, because that’s my job.

I’m overtaking this platform because I have news!! — Chau cannot be here because she has succumbed under my power. I’ve made her quit writing. HAH!

Geez, put that surprised look off your face. I said I had news, not good news.

As writers, Chau and y’all have been squeezing your brains for words to come out. And that takes a lot of blood, sweat and tears. Anyone who commit to writing understand deeply that even when you’ve tried your best,

… failures are bound to happen.

And so, on one scorching afternoon, I whispered to Chau: “If failures are bound to happen anyhow, do you want to take a less painful path?”. She asked me to show her the path.

These past two weeks, Chau wrote nothing.

The beauty of writing nothing

Before I start, let me declare something. Same as what the real Patrick said 17 years ago, I want to protect Chau. I don’t want Chau and, at a larger scale, writers to suffer from foreseeable failures. Might as well save time to do something that guarantees success, am I right?

No?

Okay then, you may want to look at these Benefits of Writing Nothing.

1/ A pressure-free life.

Writing is not a worry-free activity. You have to read a lot to find ideas. You need the patience for those ideas to marinate. You have to spend time jotting those ideas down and refine them into proper paragraphs. You have to find that one word that can encapsulate your ideas perfectly. You need to explain your absence from some social events. You need the nerve to put your work out there. You need to… do a lot.

Each step adds another layer of responsibilities. Each step is a ticket to another emotional rollercoaster ride. You said there was fun in doing so. But really, I’ve seen her cursing at the keyboard and the screen, and almost resort to biting her nails more time than necessary. Why torture yourself?

2/ Time for other money-making jobs.

Let’s be real, writers are notorious for being poor. In a world of businessmen and doctors, don’t even dream of making money by being writers. How many times do your parents and I have to remind you of this? Also, don’t you notice how Mom and Dad are longing for their love to be paid off? Keep investing time in writing and you’ll lose time acquiring other more marketable skills, like… coding.

3/ More likability

Writers are idealists. They have odd, yet firm, beliefs in the power of words and how they can shape the world we’re living in. Good writers are bold. They challenge the old and propose the unimaginable. Good writers move the world with their unwavering stance. That brings them admiration.

But let’s be frank, they’re quite annoying. They assume they’re the smartest in the room. They write like they’re running out of time. When they see a blind spot that our society that has long established an easy life, they shoot out words for change. They fight for their beliefs like they’re running out of time. Their intense passion breaks down the system and triggers the general public. No wonder why they spend a lot of time on their own.

Geez! Chill a bit won’t ya? Maybe you’ll make more friends by being less opinionated.

srsly, why torture yourself? (@brunomangyoku)

I think the 3 ideas above are good enough to get you to write nothing. I tried on Chau occasionally and they work!

Now, I need to have a quick peek at Chau to make sure she doesn’t touch her keyboard or pick up a pen. I need her to stay in her non-pressure, conventional, obedient, neutral lifestyle so that I can co-exist. Things only get into trouble i-if she s-st-start wri—

SHUT UP PATRICK!!

You’re making us think you’re speaking from good deeds, in the name of love and protection. But at the core of your lecture,

you’re only teaching us how to fail as writers!!

Actually, it’s how to fail as anyone, at anything. You taught us to do nothing.

.

Doing nothing means remaining static. It means transitioning from being so alive like a green leaf, to a dead tree branch. And we all know how easy for a branch to be broken.

I admit I can’t counter all the logic you’ve made. There is pressure in writing, the one that hunts you like university deadlines. It can be a pain in the ass. It surely does not gain money. It surely takes time away from training ourselves to become more employable in a world where capitalism plays a big part. And yes, lots of social gatherings are missed, especially when an idea robs writers’ attention.

But for those who have an idea come rushing in, doing nothing makes them miserable. Because it blocks the flow. It’s like taking a piece of fabric and tie tightly to their wrist, causing blood congestion. It’s like cycling on the travel path that one anticipated, feeling the wind cuddling the threads of one’s hair then suddenly you stop the ride. No more momentum. Pure silence. Collapse.

let things flow

Blood is no longer doing its job if it doesn’t continue flowing and circling through the body. Cyclers aren’t themselves if they stop during the ride they’ve been so eager to hop on. And writers aren’t themselves once they halt, ignore, or escape the idea knocking on their doors.

All of that is to say.

Writing nothing is a death sentence for writers.

Doing something is more demanding. Blood, sweat, and tears. But they remind us of what it’s like to be alive, to be a human. Without them, we’ll walk on a path of tasteless comfort, monotonous routine, and unpalatable companions.

But Patrick, thank you for the protection.

There is beauty in Writing Nothing.

You probably sensed that without pausing, I would exhaust my very human capacity. Besides identifying myself as a writer, I also love being a caring friend, a dutiful educator, a modern witch, a couch potato, a plant mom, a responsive daughter,… There are roles in life that I hope to fulfill. Two weeks ago, I wanted to be everything, everywhere, all at once (lol).

And two weeks ago, you showed up and persuaded me to pause. And that helps hold a lot of space for creativity to blossom. In a way, you’re protecting me. Things would have got so much nasty had you not appeared. You call yourself a creative ghost, but at that moment, you’re more like a spirit guide.

I’ve also realized that the pause was very intentional two weeks ago. We knew I needed it. And I think that’s what a healthy pause should look like. An unintentional pause is an escape.

This week, I didn’t want to pause, despite finding your words very convincing.

I figured that I needed to use my privilege right. Look at me, with my hands moveable, my keyboard available, the Internet accessible, ideas bountiful, planets in the 3rd house plentiful, I would be ashamed if I stopped writing, especially when it’s so endearing to me. Therefore, I need you to be my ally. When I say I don’t want to pause, you need to stop nagging me and step aside.

This may frighten you. Having me write means you no longer exist. But that’s not true. We know how stubborn you are. You’re here to stay. But I’ve designed a room for us, in my journal. We’ll see each other there when life becomes troubled. I trust you to tell me when to pause. But this time, tell me to do so because rest is important for creativity, not for an easier, more stable, and well-liked life. In return, I need you to know that I’m 25 now. With my prefrontal lobe scientifically proven to be fully developed, I need you to trust me when I say:

Let me write something!

Bài viết thuộc thử thách Viết Đều và Hay của Writing On The Net Alumni. #wotn #vietdeuvahay

Thank you chị Mai Hương from imnotawriter for being such a wonderful accountability buddy and listening to my rant. hic (I blame it on Patrick)