Swiftian Writing

Singer-songwriter Taylor Swift is well-known not only for her music but also for writing about her failed relationships. One could argue that an occupational hazard of going steady with her is that you will likely end up as the subject of one of her songs, being called out for all the horrible ways in which you failed to treat her as she most allegedly deserves.

Now, I’m no Taylor Swift—unless you count my boyish good looks—but I can identify with at least one aspect of her normal mode of operation. Setting aside the dubious ethics of her tendency to tell all, her outlook is, simply, that of a writer.

Writers, first and foremost, observe. Then, they go on walkabout; they think; they distill. Finally, they write. The details of the method vary widely from one writer to another; there are all manner of weird rituals by which writers follow their practice. But, ultimately, it comes down to observing, walking, thinking, distilling, and putting it into words.

I have been reading and writing for longer than I can remember. I have been typing ever since I was still too short to reach the kitchen counter. I have been going through the writer’s process for at least half of your lifetime to date.

At the age of twelve or thirteen, I took a walk one evening, alone. The windows of all the houses were aglow with the unmistakable blue light of the idiot box. McLuhan was probably right: the medium is the message. As I made my way through the neighbourhood, I found myself wondering: what are all these people doing? What are they thinking about? What are they watching, and why? Are they happy? Sad? Excited? Defeated?

The mind boggled! I began to make up my own stories about who lived in each house and what they might be suffering through, or enjoying. I thought about how they might be busy living—or busy dying.

At no later than fourteen, and possibly sooner (I cannot recall, in the grey disguise of years), I began keeping journals. Sadly—or perhaps mercifully—almost all of these were lost in The Great Purge. (That’s another story.) This practice continued until I was perhaps twenty-two, then dropped off for a while. During the years that followed, my writing went on apace, but it was focussed on more practical matters: letters of complaint, personal correspondence, writing at work, and so on. Most of the energy I might have otherwise devoted to writing was expended on growing in my careers.

Lately, I find myself having the opportunity to write at least once daily; usually several times a day. The explosion of forms of media has only expanded the opportunities for doing so. One may email, blog, tweet, speak, write a wiki article, post a comment, send a text….

In the end, you write because you are a writer. You are a writer because you write.

So it goes.