Should I Stop Writing?

I have always wanted to be a writer. I can’t remember if I wanted to be a writer when I learned to read, but it wasn’t that long after that that I started loving the written word. In middle school, I loved going to the library, whether it was the public one or the school library, and browsing through books to check them out. I was checking out Frank Herbert, HP Lovecraft, Ray Bradbury, and other mid-century sci-fi authors.

I think the first author who made me believe I could be a writer was Ernest Hemingway. Something about him being a journalist living in war-torn Europe, getting drunk, getting into fights, loving women, and loving violent sports while writing beautifully written novels and short stories had me believing that I could do that, and that that is what I want. The writer was romanticized—a hero.

Then I got into the Beats, especially William S. Burroughs, and discovered that writing could be experimental and avant-garde, and that the writer could be an outlaw. Between his writing about sci-fi, the cut-up techniques, and the inspiration drawn from westerns, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and other esoteric influences, I saw more potential for the discipline than before.

I love books. I keep buying them and checking them out at the library. I have tried e-readers, and while they are more portable and can fit a large number of books on a small device, I love the tactile experience of a real book. There is a smell. There is a feel to the texture of the paper. Noticing that the halfway point has been passed, there are now more pages at the beginning than towards the end. I love the covers and the art. I love how a book is laid out. Chapters, parts, books, sections, and any other way it is divided up.

I write a lot. I have probably written hundreds of stories, poems, journal entries, inventories, and essays—some I have even published on this website and elsewhere. I have a couple of novels that are bound for editing, currently sitting on an external hard drive. I have a whole book about a deck of tarot cards that I drew and designed, which was edited and is now sitting around waiting to be published. I thought I’d be a novelist by now.

I need to write. It’s the only way to express myself. I have always relied on writing to express myself to someone when we can’t seem to get along or are mad at each other because of misunderstandings. I believe I can write better than I speak.

I also need to read. I love getting lost in a book or thumbing through a magazine. I love blogs and newsletters. I subscribe to Harper’s and Sun magazines, and I have many Substack subscriptions. My favorite time of day is when I get to get in bed, put on some jazz, and read my book with my dog at my side. Some days, I get in bed very early so that I can do this for longer before I get too tired to read anymore.

I have been running this blog since 2012. I got it because a writing teacher I had told me to create a website and post my writing on it. Someday, I will be a professional writer, and I will already have all this material, allowing people to read about the transformation from a young writer to an experienced one.

This website has undergone numerous stages. I posted innumerable self-reflections, dwelling on the inner sadness that drives my life and prevents me from fully experiencing happiness. I have written about love and the loss of love. I have explored my sobriety and my recovery from mood-altering chemicals. I wrote about my cancer journey from beginning to post treatment, and I have written just to write, because the cancer treatment fucked up my cognitive functions. I chose to do a daily meditation so that I was accountable and put my foggy chemo brain to work, so that I could get out of that slump. Finally, I designed and illustrated a tarot deck and accompanying book that serves as a guide, yet reads like a novel.

I started a Substack last year to write about tarot cards, specifically the Infinite Fool Tarot that I created, and to explore recovery, under the pseudonym The Superstitious Agnostic. I wanted to reach a larger audience and free up my blog for various projects I’ve been working on.

Here’s the rub: many people no longer read. I talk to people all the time, and they prefer podcasts, short videos, and if they do anything long-form, audiobooks. People blame ADD and ADHD for their dislike of the written word, and while some feel shame about not reading, others are proud that they aren’t book people. There is an anti-intellectual movement in this country running rampant. Reading books is seen as outdated by people from all walks of life. Their sources for their beliefs come from memes, podcasts, and short video content found on YouTube and TikTok.

While the habits of people consuming culture aren’t any of my business, it does affect me because, as the years go on, fewer and fewer people read my stuff. I have statistics on how many people are reading each blog post. The people who were reading my blog a long time ago are mostly still reading it, but I’m not gaining new readers.

I moved to Rhode Island in 2021 and have made many new friends here in New England. For the most part, if a person reads, they will only read their preferred choices and won’t read beyond that; the rest don’t or won’t read. Usually, when I see a Rhode Island person reading my blog, it’s my wife, so the idea of expanding my readership isn’t happening.

I have been reworking my Cracked Pot Meditations, which I did in 2016. I’m editing them, but I’m also drawing a picture, usually a picture of myself being goofy, and posting it on social media. The drawings are liked by many, but the written part is not being read. I’ll see several likes on the picture, but only one, if I’m lucky, reader.

Of course, this makes me sad. I work very hard to write good content, and I’m not even doing it for money. It’s fucking free. I’m giving away my work because it brings me joy to create it, and when someone is positively affected by my work, I feel a deep sense of joy. However, with the joy of people reading and resonating with my work comes great dissatisfaction and sadness from seeing people not engaging with it.

I have nothing against audiobooks, but I have a stronger affinity for the written word than for the oral tradition. My mind is entirely different when I’m with a book than when I’m listening to someone read me the book. Hearing it doesn’t make me want to invest in it, but reading it does. That is just me, and I don’t want people to think I’m knocking audiobooks, but at some point, I fear that they will do away with the written part and just become an audio storytelling industry. It also makes me sad because there are so many excellent books that should be read, but people won’t.

So I have come to the meat of the essay, should I stop writing? I’m not any closer to publishing the next great American novel, fewer and fewer people read, and I have become jaded. I keep losing my drive to put pen to paper and create work when there isn’t a person who will even try to enjoy it.

Would people be interested in me doing a podcast again? Many people seemed to like the David Fisher “Not Quite an Hour Hour”. Max and I quit a little after the George Floyd murder because we just felt like the world didn’t need two more white guys sharing their thoughts over the internet. People have told me they think I should do videos. It’s not something I’ve tried before, but it seems easier than ever to create that kind of content.

Maybe I could do Tarot readings. Perhaps even on short videos, where I read the cards? I don’t know; I have never been excited about videos, and although I’ve done two podcasts, I was never into listening to them – I’d rather read. I would need to find someone to collaborate on the podcast and/or videos, as I don’t think I can be the sole focal point. I work better with others on these kinds of projects.

There is this philosophy that when you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, and this is me looking at giving up the longform essay and the stories, and switching to what people want, a personality that they can see and hear. Whenever I listen to recommendations for podcasts and videos, it’s because the person presenting them is personable or at least likable. I like to think of myself as a character.

Every summer I get this way, I wonder what the fuck am I doing still writing these blogs and working on these writing projects that no one will read while podcasters and video content creators are the new Hemingways. I mean, I won’t stop writing; I’ll write for myself and maybe put up a short story now and then for my ten faithful followers. However, it looks like the written word is about to be lost forever.

And this is all without mentioning AI.