Writing about writing

All of the writing manuals say to write what you know, but I don’t really know anything. My only real hobby is writing, but you can only write so much about writing before you say everything you have to say. It’s a fruitless endeavor — sort of like an apple tree that never learned to grow apples. You know: fruitless. (Pretty clever analogy, huh? I came up with that one because I’m a writer.)

Writing About Writing

I used to have an interest in stamps, but I had to use my collection to pay the bills. Literally. I’d run out of Elvis Presley Forever stamps, and I didn’t feel like driving to the post office. There’s always a bunch of people standing in line, and the wait takes forever. By the time it takes to reach the front of the line, I could hand-deliver all my bills.

Which I should have done, in retrospect, instead of sacrificing my stamp collection. Especially since all of my checks were returned anyway due to insufficient funds.

The writing experts are following their own advice when they say to write what you know, because they themselves are writing about writing. Which is why they’re considered writing experts, I guess.

So maybe if I write about writing, I, too, will become a writing expert. And then I’ll know more than I do now. And if I start to know more, then maybe I can write more. (At least that’s according to the advice of all those writing experts.)

But if I write only about what I know, then my career is going to be pretty brief. I’d rather write about what I don’t know. But then I’d have to fill my blog posts with gibberish, because I wouldn’t know what I was talking about.

I’d like to write about my stamp collection, but I don’t have it anymore because I had to pay the bills. Only I couldn’t pay the bills because I lacked sufficient funds in my account. And I lacked sufficient funds in my account because I don’t earn any money writing.

And that’s because I know very little about the subject.

So I guess I should learn more. Then I could become an expert and actually know what I was talking about.

As it stands now, I had to fill this blog post with gibberish.

5 comments on “Writing about writing

  1. My motto is adventure first, then write. Write what you know is often symbolic of writing believable characters. When writing fantasy or sci-fi you can’t know how to travel to different worlds, but you can step out of your comfort zone and do something new and different and use that experience to fuel your writing. Go out, do things, and then write. It may inspire you in ways you never imagined. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • I really appreciate the comment, and you’re right on the money. The key to rich, inspired writing comes from meeting new people, exploring new places, and living an amazing life filled with adventure.

      The problem for me, however, is that pursuing adventure would require getting up from the living-room couch. I’m just not sure I can make that kind of commitment. I mean, yeah — I’d love to savor all of the extraordinary experiences that life has to offer, but not if “Hell’s Kitchen” is on. Is it even possible to derive inspiration when you can’t find the remote, or if there’s potato-chip crumbs dribbling down your shirt?

      These are just some of the challenges that make writing so difficult.


  2. Andy Rooney and Jerry Seinfeld come to mind, hearing your voice. The world needs writers who make us laugh about the mundane which, you can attest, is where most of us dwell. This piece is just the right length for a daily witticism/editorial piece. Pick any ordinary function as a topic of any unremarkable day and make us laugh, buster. It’s a gold mine.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh, and you won’t have to leave the house or even your couch! But I bet the grocery store or the bank or the freeway or any other daily jaunt could boost the supply fodder; even the bathroom at work… Have fun with this!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hey, thanks for the nice comments, Elizabeth. I like the idea of writing about a typical, unremarkable day. My life is full of them. Plus, if I can do it all without leaving the couch, then sign me up. I think I’ve found my niche. (As well as $0.65 beneath the cushions. Not a gold mine, exactly, but definitely more than I earned on my novella.)

      And as for the bathrooms at work … well, where do I start? How about the dusty basket on the sink board, filled with dried leaves and twigs? I think it once passed for potpourri. Now, it’s just part of the decor — if you’re into the dried-leaves-and-twigs look. I’m not an interior designer, but I do agree that a dusty basket of forest debris adds a homey touch to the otherwise foul environment.

      Liked by 1 person

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