Why I don’t write (contra Orwell)

George Orwell once wrote a famous essay entitled “why I write”. In a brief 1000 words or so, Orwell articulates his motivation for putting pen to paper or finger to typewriter, as the case may be) and his aim and visions for writing. It makes salutary reading for those in the writing craft, as not everyone (perhaps hardly anyone) is as dedicated o the craft as Orwell. Why he has been slandered over the years as a hack and writer of low brow, hackneyed political drivel, Orwell’s work-manlike values in producing these tomes remains to be admired. No one can say he was lazy – indeed, Orwell’s literary output was prodigious. What does this have to do with me? Well, I don’t write. Some say I have a slight talent for it, at least d\for marshalling other people’s arguments, but when it comes to putting together anything of my own I consistently come up with nothing. Like the stuff I’m writing right now. It’s really an exercise in inane drivel to avoid working on something more weighty and serious. Previously I put off the terrible occasion of composing serious prose by tidying my desk. But now it gleams with anticipation. Other solutions to avoiding beginning writing include tidying one’s computer folders. They too, await patiently in perfect formation, daring any new material to subvert their well-organised existence. So what to do? Give up? I have been giving up for almost 18 months now. Just do it? Suitable for a shoe slogan but not an essay. Write any old rubbish, close my eyes and hit “send” on the email? Why not? At least it saved a tree. And if it gets printed, it can always be recycled. That’s thoughtful, and caring, at least for the environment, isn’t it?