Am I doing the right thing? (2/7)

In my last post I wrote about the principle of “work theatre.” Most people talk about the many hours they put into various projects, but that it is usually testament to their inefficiency. I used the example of finishing a university project that takes other people way more time.

Adult life is of course way more complicated! Add social media, and the ability to have the kind of work ethic that allows self-reward has almost dissolved entirely.

This is because:

-          There is no common project between us.

-          Our project(s) have no beginning, end or deadline

-          Who are you comparing yourself to as a benchmark for when you’ve done enough?

-          When do you get to stop and when do you get to return?

I’m trying to find the David Foster Wallace quote, but can’t, where he said that in your mid-to-late twenties, the praise of others won’t sustain you anymore. In the short term, that means you lose a joy you used to have, and it’s quite sad. But it doesn’t happen without reason.

You come off the rails. You’re old enough to understand for yourself what is worthwhile and what isn’t—or at the very least, you become your best resource for determining what that is. I reckon you’ll probably end up doing what you were already doing, but with more conviction.

Of course, you might fail to come off the rails and attempt to continue using external praise as your prime motivating factor. I don’t think that ends well. I’d also wager that it’s at the heart of writerly boasting. This typically takes the shape of declaring word count/hours spent writing on social media. Not to say this isn’t interesting at all. It’s a relief to have a bit more information on someone else’s effort vs their productivity (as in my university example in the previous post.) However, since it causes so much stress and blows to self-esteem, it might not be worth the cost.

I reckon that for five minutes, once a week, I might feel like wanting to know how much another writer works. I wouldn’t spend more than that on it, and absolutely would not recommend obsessing over comparisons with my own productivity as the very definition of my existence. Just a thought.

Sounds obvious, or reductively easy, when I put it like that. I mention stuff like this that other writers know intellectually is wrong—but they go ahead and do it anyway. That’s compulsion/addiction territory. There are many ways of writing, and many different paths to success, but those paths are only hampered if not culled by compulsive or addictive behaviour. It’s fundamentally unhelpful.

In my next post, I’ll give some textbook writerly examples of “work theatre.”