I intended to write this week’s post about Jimmy Buffett and the great harm he did to Florida under the title “Tom Petty is the Jimmy Buffett Floridians Deserve.” But while I will write that at some point, today is not that day. Maybe next year. 

I’m also not going to write about the election because there is plenty of writing about that – too much, in fact. What do you need to know about either candidate or their parties that you do not already know? I will add nothing to the discourse. No matter what social media or fundraising texts tell you, there’s only so much you can do. Go in peace. 

Other topics I have nothing to add anything important on: Chappell Roan, college football or what should or should not be done in the Middle East. I will let tomorrow carry these topics forward as it desires with the information that it provides. 

So, I will write, briefly, about the one thing I know fairly well, and the one thing that I have done since I was 16 years old – and that is writing itself. 

I published my first article in my high school newspaper – Cougar Times. I wrote articles for my college newspaper, The Daily Skiff and the college magazine, Image, which I also edited. In between I wrote concert reviews and feature articles for Fort Worth Star-Telegram and Texas Music. Later I edited Parker County Today and Hood & Somervell Today. I was the principal songwriter in a few bands between 2008 and 2017, and I still write songs from time to time. Lately I’ve been writing a poem every day. Some are good, most are not. I tweeted a bit, too, and, done well, that’s a form of writing. 

What else? I wrote articles for my alumni publication, TCU Magazine, and for Wesleyan, at the university that I worked for from 2009 until 2018. I’ve written blog posts, short film scripts, comedy sketches for podcasts and radio, jokes for speeches, and a lot more that I don’t remember well. I also wrote a lot of ad copy, including TV scripts and billboards. Just tick-tick-tick-write-write-write and then 15 years are gone. 

I’ve gone viral once or twice, including once with a friend when we mercilessly mocked college football teams in the Big 12 conference. All lots of fun. 

None of this writing has paid particularly well or reached a particularly wide audience. It’s done well enough to keep me going, keep me writing and keep me well fed with food, drink and experiences, which I assume one day will become content for more writing. Tick-tick-tick-write-write-write. Another year gone. 

Several of my friends and former classmates have done much better than me as writers, and deservedly so – one wrote a biography of Charles Barkley. Another publishes bestselling books. I even know a friend who publishes YA fiction that seems to sell briskly. All of that content is quite good and very resonant. I’m a fan.  

Some of the better advice you get as a writer is to know your audience – which is to say you should understand the desires and interests of your potential reader. This has always been a difficult task for me because I have generally written for myself. I have pursued the topics I found interesting because it’s been hard for me to figure out what it is that people actually want to read – and also because I get so bored with the same old content you see everywhere. Being niche ain’t for everyone. The writing I like is equal parts profane and profound. I never really did much of either. 

So, the question is, “Why keep writing?” 

For me, the answer is easy – I don’t have any other marketable skills. I am unfit for manual labor (tried that), my math skills are near-remedial (tried that and cried) and I’m too honest for sales (didn’t get past the interview). Writing keeps the lights on, even if they aren’t burning brightly. 

I tried to write this next paragraph – about why it’s important to write – several times and each version was somehow worse than the one that came before it. At this point I don’t know why I keep writing other than I think it’s an important part of who I am and it’s better than just being a date on a tombstone somewhere. Writing is an act of defiance. Tick-tick-tick-write-write-write. I’m still here. 

I recently started a project to archive my writing, the photos that went with it and whatever other recordings and ephemera I have from my 23 years or so of creating. I have no children and no one has expressed much interest in a bunch of old billboards and reviews of Rod Stewart concerts that happened 16 years ago, so I guess I’m doing it for me at this point, which has always been my primary audience. So, I suppose it’s a process of self-discovery as much as anything. 

Looking back at the work I see a willingness to learn and give it a whirl. I see a sense of humor that looks a bit cynical on the surface but seems to obscure a lot of hope and joy. I see a guy that’s spending a fair amount of time – maybe too much time – winking at the audience as if to say, “are you seeing this shit?” I see a voice that is fairly developed early on, but that doesn’t have much to say other than “here I am.” I see the writing get tighter and more focused on ideas as it goes along. I see a lot of fun in just being there. I see someone who wisely confines his opinions to things he knows fairly well – music, mostly – and even then there is a fairness that probably doesn’t make for very interesting writing. 

I wish I would have written down some of the things I said. I was always a reserved and conservative writer, stylistically speaking, and I could have pushed it more. Sometimes people quote back things I said to them and I think, “Damn, that’s good. I should have written that down.” Had I been a little more confident in my own outrageousness I might have made a little bigger splash. 

So, what did I learn from two decades in the typing trenches? I learned that writing an opinion and writing from a point of view are two different things. Writing from an opinion is trite and disposable. Writing from a point of view is the process of understanding yourself, who you are, what you see, and also how you are seen. Opinions get printed today and trashed tomorrow (See: Election Day). A point of view is something that keeps evolving and, perhaps, one day becomes valuable. 

I learned that writer’s block is the refuge of the financially secure. There were lots of times I had nothing to say, but I said something anyway, because the pangs of hunger were stronger than my emotional tumult. And, interestingly enough, some of the times where I felt I had nothing to write ended up being some of the better writing I ever did. Just keep writing, even if it’s typing. 

I learned that editors – especially good editors – are worth their weight in gold. If you can find another professional, paid or unpaid, who is willing to give you feedback on your work you will be better for it. Writing is a solitary act, editing is a discussion and revision is a critical act. 

Lastly, I think you write for yourself, anyway. Most books disappear off the shelves. Web content is more forgettable than ever. No one wants to read your poems. But writing is a way of coming to terms with yourself and whatever shitty situation you happen to find yourself slogging through – be it a Drowning Pool concert, political upheaval or physical illness. Until AI learns how to feel exhausted by humanity itself, I don’t really trust the answers it provides. Writing is the way humanity shows its work in becoming more human. 

As I write this, I realize there is a fair amount of bullshit in it. I wrote for a major city newspaper before I could legally drink. I enraged message boards for bands like Blue October with my hot takes on their putrid music. Even recently I built a fairly large and engaged following on Twitter commenting on local politics. But, nonetheless, it all fades into the past. You write for the now and let the future do with it what it will. You look back and learn what there is to learn and you move on. There is no immortality in art, only mortality. 

But what a way to go.