Writing well is difficult. Sometimes, the writer is granted brilliance that feels scarcely controllable, but these instances seems rare. Even being in one such moment provides that distinctive feeling – like standing on top of the Duomo or producing creative work with ease – capable of being be evaluated in real time and appreciated for its rarity: “I might never have it so good/easy again.” So how can writing be made easier? Simple: write everything like it’s an Internet comment.
The writer vs the vacuum cleaner
Much writing is a slog, a series of slight maneuvers that cancel each other out until finally a coherent thread emerges. It took me 5 minutes just to write the paragraph above. Writing is not unique in this respect. Even glorified professions such as programming are full of drudgery.
What consistently gums up the writing works? It’s as if there’s a vacuum cleaner sucking up thoughts from the brain. The task ahead demands lots of ideas and eloquent turns of phrase, but the reserves quickly run out, and then there’s nothing.
Staring down at blank space is like the times when, on the verge of sleep, there’s that startlingly realistic falling sensation, that causes real fear despite harboring no threat of actual mental or physical damage. That’s writer’s block: Real fear, fake consequences. The feeling of an empty idea cupboard is irrational, given that it’s impossible not to think.
Vague feelings of brilliance vs concrete sensations of inadequacy
While most writing isn’t pleasurable to produce, it usually reads better than it felt to write. The fear of inadequacy is often just a deep-seated anxiety of what to write to right next, rather than despair about the project at large.
Overwhelming, tangible brilliance can make the writer inhabit the moment and relish how power is building and obstacles are receding, yet the grind of the writing process gives her a frame-by-frame feeling of pain. Each word is scrutinized. This sort of perspective is what makes writing both pleasurable and painful: The writer may sometimes vaguely sense overall quality, but she must also regularly dwell on specific defects.
The latter tendency is what makes in-the-moment elation – the happiness at being able to step back and appreciate beauty as it is formed – difficult in all but exceptional cases. Certainly, it is painful, but it is almost necessary to chipping away at word choice, syntax, and argument until something is unlocked. This quibbling is the fallback mechanism when sweeping brilliance isn’t available; it’s the writer’s workhorse.
Internet comments vs everything else
If there’s one type of writing that feels tangibly easier than all others, it’s the Internet comment. It has a low bar to entry: Good grammar and reasoning skills aren’t required, there’s little curation, and the writer herself does not even need an environment, other than the Web browser or app in question.
Bad comments are easy to the point of near-unthinking, but even apparently good ones can be produced in a flash. The show-off Internet comment – a missive that can include copious amounts of evidence, conspiracy theories, personal anecdotes – is a staple of Reddit et al, and their volume speaks to a writing form that not only exhibits effort (if not always quality), but also scales tremendously.
This combination is unique. There is plenty of substandard prose and poetry on the Web, but it lacks the airs of greatness put on by Internet comments. A comment can be:
- Easy to write (thus reinforcing subtle norms around the great artist who effortlessly churns out masterpieces
- Superficially convincing (even if the reasoning is poor, the author may overwhelm with length, cherry-picked numbers, flowery language, or a combination thereof)
- Instantly applauded (forget a publishing deal; upvotes and likes can confer immediate gravitas to the text)
Thinking about these perks, why doesn’t the Internet comment become a literary form? Its real advantage, staked in the three foundations enumerated above, is its built-in audience – by far the most irritating obstacle for any writer in any context. There’s major schlep blindness in not trying to turn such a facile mode of writing into something with aesthetic and philosophical value.
It’s easy to write an epic Internet comment (whether a tweetstorm or rambling Facebook status update) because there’s no intimidating void to fill, no vast spaces to traverse without knowing what tone, language, or evidence to use. Even a bad comment will get attention because the audience is there to seize upon it; a good comment will be acclaimed or, in an even better indication of its impact, viciously attacked by insecure dissenters.
A while back, I wrote, on the occasion of Google requiring a Google+ account for YouTube comments:
“Every commenter is an expert, or at the very least a potential conversation hijacker whose hastily gathered yet half coherent sentiments can trigger thousand-word outbursts from her faceless peers.”
My language was over the top, but I still feel the same about the comment’s power as a low-hanging enabler of expertise and catalyst for raw word production. It’s all about the audience and the ability to show off, knowing everyone is already watching.