There is something beautiful about writing, even today when millions of words are written by great writers everyday available for anyone to read for free. There is potential, and indeed hope, that words one writes will touch somebody else in a special way. It doesn’t matter how quickly the mode of moving these words from one place to another have changed. It doesn’t matter if somewhere in the jungle those words get lost. This act has stood the test of time.
I’m glad that I can revel in its joys.
And on days when things aren’t going that well, I’ll turn to this note written to myself, reminding me that there is always writing I can turn to.
As a writer, I suffer from a disability that I suspect isn’t unique. I am never pleased with anything I write. There must be, my critical self nags, a better idea to write about or a better way to write what I just wrote.
Perhaps it is this disability that has forced me to work as a journalist, rather than, say, a novelist. For example, both the aforementioned problems go away when I’m on an assignment.
The first disappears because once my idea has been accepted by an editor, I know that’s what I have to write about. The second vanishes because the acceptance comes with a deadline, which I’m forced to honour so it keeps my easy-to-distract mind on a leash.
This it turns out isn’t a bad way of learning to be a writer. As it happens, Neil Gaiman, a best-selling English author of fiction and comics, found that the restrictions placed on him as a journalist were great for learning to be a creative writer.
(After school I went) straight into work, as a journalist – a wonderful thing for a writer. You learn you can ask questions, you learn compression and you learn probably the single most important thing for any writer: delivering more or less on time.
Of course, the idea of tethering your mind to a task at hand isn’t a new productivity tool. What is counter-intuitive, though, is that putting yourself in a box that is governed by self-set rules does not kill creativity. If anything, it is enhanced in a way that may produce more results.
Two months of failing to fulfill my reading goals towards the #100bookschallenge has made me rethink the purpose of taking up the challenge
Less than a decade ago, it was easy to recognise a book. It was anything that could be printed, bound and put on shelf of a library or a store. Now, though, things have gotten messy. There are ebooks, Kindle singles, Atavist originals, Matter stories, and the list goes on.
In many parts of the world, digital has become the primary platform for the written word. The advantages are plenty and this trend towards digital is no surprise. But it disrupts how ideas get shared, and sharing ideas was the main reason for books to come into existence.
While it was with the classical definition of a book that I began my #100bookschallenge, the main reason behind taking up the challenge was to be able to learn about the greatest ideas out there. These are increasingly being communicated not just in books. A lot of the ideas are long conversations that have been running on a blog, or those that appear in longform writing/journalism like the New Yorker or The Economist’s special reports.
Thus I’m revising the definition of a (non-fiction) book that can count towards my challenge of 100 books. Apart from the classical definition, all pieces of writing that will fulfill all the conditions below can be counted towards my target:
Longform writing that has a clear-defined message or explores a topic in a significant amount of detail or has a central theme.
Has been written by a single author (‘classical’ books may have more than one author).
Is more than 10,000 words long as a single piece.
A series of blog posts won’t count if at least one of them is not close to 10,000 words long and explains the main idea of the series.
The writing should be so dense (full of ideas) that I cannot stop myself from writing a review of what I read.
(UPDATE) The work should be not just newsworthy ie it should still relevant and worth reading after, say, many months or sometimes years.
As to why just 10,000 words? Because it’s not too short and it feels like the right length to have a comprehensive look at a topic. I’m open to revising my definition, so please feel free to make suggestions.