An Open Letter To Writers: Give Up

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Dear Writers,

Give up.

Give up. Just do it, and do it now. Do whatever you have to do to make sure that you never record your thoughts in print again. Burn all of your notebooks. Break all of your pencils and smash the sharpeners. Delete any word-processing programs on your computer. On second thought, just destroy the whole computer; social media might prove too tempting. I don’t care how you do it. It just has to stop.

Why? Because it’s simply not worth it. I mean it. Recording your thoughts doesn’t help anyone. Concentrating your mind, finding the beauty in language, it’s all bullshit. Don’t even get me started on pushing your ideas through the filter of pretension that is metaphor, simile, and all that other highbrow figurative language crap. All of it only goes to show that you think you’re better than the rest of us. That’s it, isn’t it? You really think that you can make your thoughts, thoughts that have been had by every person in every place in every time leading up to this one, you think you can make those insightful? You think you’re an “artist?” Don’t make me laugh. 

What’s more, you think someone is going to take the time to read it? Newsflash, darling: I’m a busy guy. We all are. You’re just going to have to bottle it all up like the rest of us, so you can carry all your anger and bitterness and depression wherever you go, ready to unleash it upon the most undeserving, angry, bitter, depressed person at a moment’s notice. Welcome to the real world.

You might say it’s not about what other people think. You might use words and phrases like “personal development,” or “introspection,” or god forbid, “catharsis.”

Fortunately, I’m here to tell you that that’s all a lie too. There are no real world problems you can solve by “looking inside yourself.” When life gets in your face, the only thing to do is to start swinging blindly, with no mind for any potential consequences or inconveniences. When you’re going through a breakup, stay in bed for weeks, cry, and drink until your liver ceases to exist. When a loved one dies, lash out at all of your remaining loved ones with all of your blind rage and confusion. Don’t worry about the fact that they might be feeling the same thing; that’s not your problem. There is no problem that cannot be solved with irrationality and hate. Remember that next time you see a piece of paper and want to punch it full of letters. Remember that next time your heart is moved by someone who understands the endless and necessary struggle that the know-it-alls call “the human condition.” Remember that when you realize that somehow another man’s words have made you a little more human. 

It’s pointless. It’s dangerous. Just don’t do it.


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