There was a YouTuber I used to follow who specialised in horror movie reviews. Her videos were well made. There was a friendly, non-threatening air of a Sunday school teacher about her presentation which amused me, given the subject matter. However, what really interested me was that, prior to making videos, she had dabbled in music and had put some of it up on Soundcloud. She was doing interesting things with song structure; she could deviate into abstraction without it being jarring. There was a sense of someone going their own way creatively. Added to that, elements of a personality that she was consciously burying in her videos came through in her lyrics. While the mixing of the songs was muddy (although for me that was part of the charm) there was a definite spark.
Sparks have a short-lived existence and they are often stamped out before they can kindle. A few years ago, after announcing that she felt overwhelmed, she vanished from the Internet, never to heard from again. Assuming that nothing dire happened to her, I admired her decision to let go of something that worked for her once, but that wasn't working any more. It is easy to reconcile with the nagging dissatisfaction that arises from hunkering down in the rut that you've made for yourself. A lot of people spend their entire lives doing just that.
The entry to which this comment is attached is is the most optimistic I have read since arriving on your Substack. While you might convincingly argue that's a low bar to hurdle, you no longer come across as someone who is clinging desperately to whatever flotsam happens to drift within arm's reach. You write like a man who recognises he has options and a future. The impulse to critically examine something that held utility in the past, and to consider whether it still holds utility, is a sign of someone moving forward in their life.
I assume that if you do write a book, then it will either be the kind of serious academic work whose premise flies over my head after the first few sentences, or something in the vein of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance that blends experience and philosophy. The latter might be the more interesting option, though probably also the more painful to write.
Thoughts that consciously dwell on matching or subverting the expectations of an audience are a sign that you either no longer believe in what you are doing, or that you've outgrown it. A few years ago I was having moderate success as a writer. Publishers weren't banging on my door but I was getting short stories in journals. Pieces of my writing were being performed at home and abroad. I was even making a little money, but something felt off. I felt like I was stuck in orbit - one that was not of my choosing - circling but never going anywhere.
I reflected on some other writers I knew who were in a similar position. It was obvious that they were on a treadmill and it followed that I was too. That troubled me, because I want my creative endeavours to be a progression, not necessarily in terms of career or anything tangible, but certainly in terms of intent.
I stopped writing for a couple of months while I pondered the question: 'What the hell am I doing?' - a phrase that I think I might enshrine as a personal motto, in Latin for the sake of tradition and authenticity. The accompanying crest will incorporate a confused unicorn that evidently hasn't been instructed on where to stand or what pose to assume.
The conclusion I arrived at is that I am happier when I am writing. I am more engaged in the world and more appreciative of my surroundings. Writing fiction allows me to address experiences that I will never discuss with anyone, and will take with me to my grave, in a way that is transformative. The process of writing holds more value for me than the finished product.
I thought about how I could continue to write in a way that was meaningful. The first thing I did was detach myself from my past. I stopped writing under my real name and switched to my present alias which is an anagram of my Christian name and my surname. I reduced the number of short stories I churned out and instead turned my focus on novels which I find I prefer. I resolved to write what I wanted to write, rather than pandering to gatekeepers, which is a miserable and dishonest way to live.
The genuine reason why you do something often takes time to reveal itself. What you originally identified as the purpose, was only the larval stage of your understanding. It turns out that it was something completely different; usually something more personal.
Well, whether or not you write here are again I’ll look forward to hopefully seeing you IRL at some point. And yes, writing here mustn’t become an obligation. I like Jane’s comment though, about a more philosophy-focussed book, that could be the core of a longer-term idea if it appeals.
I have this abiding memory of you hovering at some point outside my office, probably pre-Covid, and I said what’s up, and you said, “I think I just told a Dean in the [another department] to fuck off”, so I invited elaboration, and it proved that yes you had in fact done that.
Come back. We have more people we need you to tell to fuck off.
I hope you'll continue to write, because your writing is the only thing that drops into my inbox weekly that I open immediately. There are so many people, pretending to be what they're not and this is so much the opposite of all that. I'd read your book. If you chose not to continue to write I will miss your musings, but wish you recovery and purpose in whatever form is possible.
I’ve had a similar set of thoughts and feelings. I started my Substack when recovering from a near fatal anaphylactic shock and I was in bed most of the last year.
Now things are much better and I’m about to start work and not quite so drastically emotional about life I have been struggling more with writing. Having a bought of depression has not helped either.
I’m keeping it going but not quiet so often as I did. Focusing more on improving writing style as a hobby than anything else.
I have started up a business Substack using my old management consultancy knowledge but struggling to be motivated so that is already not happening.
Who knows if will continue but I do like Substack as a platform so will see. I do love reading yours and others posts though so will at least continue with that.
Thank you Paul. Your writing and your articles are invaluable.
I'm sure if you want to write another article then you will write it. If you don't want to write here again then you won't. It's your call.
A publisher may want to produce the articles together as a powerful book or there may be no interest. I would not rule out either option nor would I spend energy worrying about this, if it has started to become a concern.
A potential book could focus on philosophy. I have enjoyed this aspect of your posts very much. Philosophy has always scrambled my brain but you write about it in an accessible and interesting way. Just a thought. Substack is a kind of living book, almost Dickensian.
Paul, As a sometime GP, I read your posts not because you have had a particular form of injury but for the depth and honesty of your reflections. Writings such as yours are in short supply in the medical humanities field. Who knows how in the future a career may be stimulated by your writings? Or how the provision of care be transformed by insights you provide.
Thanks for this post. I do hope you continue to write this blog. I get a lot out of reading it, and even if I don't respond I continue thinking about your posts for days. I have learned a great deal from reading your thoughts about human resilience and what that means. Your posts about freedom and agency were particularly meaningful to me. I am very much hoping that you settle into a more humane and bearable life (not merely existence) now that you are home. You still have a lot to offer so if you feel that you want to continue writing, I will continue reading.
Paul, I enjoy reading your posts but wouldn’t want you to feel it’s too much of a burden to continue. For me, if you simply wanted to post something brief, like, guys I’ve decided on the colour to paint the walls , no thoughts yet on wall art, that would suffice You are a gifted writer. If not a book, ever thought of writing for the screen? Your experience of climbing and your current situation are an unknown for many of us and you’ve a unique knowledge. But also you can ditch that idiom, write what you know, and let your imagination take you wherever it wants to.
I have never met you but began reading these posts early on. Thank you for them. They have given me new perspectives on so many aspects of being alive. I hope you check in from time to time. I really do. Of course no pressure, but I have looked forward to your insights and shall really miss them. S
Hello Paul, just to say I really appreciate your writing, but I know the struggle of feeling obligated. I think the solution to that is to allow yourself to write when you feel like it. People get into this idea that they have to keep up a regular rhythm with posting, which, sure, if that's when / how your ideas arise, but I've found there are fallow phases both in the short term and the long term, and I think it leads to more interesting work to just write when you feel like it and don't when you don't. In any case it's been super interesting to follow you so far.
No pressure to come up with anything that doesn't add something positive to your catastrophic life changes.
To me, your writing has, at times, felt like a conversation in the wilderness. I love Jane's comment about the Dickensian living book that is Substack.
This is a forum where you have control. Make it count only on your terms.
I agree with you that this is not a book nor material for the kind of book you talk about in this column - but you are a philosopher and historian so it might be raw material for a different kind of book on the philosophy of disability (see, for example, work by Eve Kittay and Elizabeth Barnes) if you ever felt like using your experience in this way or on disorientation and moral life (see Ami Harbin's book of this title). Of course, you may very much not want to go these routes (and there is no obligation to do so) but they are routes that your experience and disciplined brutal articulation of this experience make available if you felt inclined to travel in either of these directions.
I've read all of your posts Paul and yes, they've been tough reading at times. We've never met (I know your Mum) but I hope that this next stage of your recovery goes well for you. If you do write more, I'll be reading. If you don't, so be it. Thank you for the insights. Jools
I love reading your column, and hope that you feel enough benefit yourself to continue. As a person with ms, and disability, I have always found it fascinating how friends with serious health issues have seemed much more interested in my problems/difficulties than the average punter, not seemingly as a voyeur but as a way of coming to terms with how they themselves cope.
As an aside, I told a climbing pal about your column, and he told me why you are now a punter. As a racing cyclist, we called non cyclists civilians.
There was a YouTuber I used to follow who specialised in horror movie reviews. Her videos were well made. There was a friendly, non-threatening air of a Sunday school teacher about her presentation which amused me, given the subject matter. However, what really interested me was that, prior to making videos, she had dabbled in music and had put some of it up on Soundcloud. She was doing interesting things with song structure; she could deviate into abstraction without it being jarring. There was a sense of someone going their own way creatively. Added to that, elements of a personality that she was consciously burying in her videos came through in her lyrics. While the mixing of the songs was muddy (although for me that was part of the charm) there was a definite spark.
Sparks have a short-lived existence and they are often stamped out before they can kindle. A few years ago, after announcing that she felt overwhelmed, she vanished from the Internet, never to heard from again. Assuming that nothing dire happened to her, I admired her decision to let go of something that worked for her once, but that wasn't working any more. It is easy to reconcile with the nagging dissatisfaction that arises from hunkering down in the rut that you've made for yourself. A lot of people spend their entire lives doing just that.
The entry to which this comment is attached is is the most optimistic I have read since arriving on your Substack. While you might convincingly argue that's a low bar to hurdle, you no longer come across as someone who is clinging desperately to whatever flotsam happens to drift within arm's reach. You write like a man who recognises he has options and a future. The impulse to critically examine something that held utility in the past, and to consider whether it still holds utility, is a sign of someone moving forward in their life.
I assume that if you do write a book, then it will either be the kind of serious academic work whose premise flies over my head after the first few sentences, or something in the vein of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance that blends experience and philosophy. The latter might be the more interesting option, though probably also the more painful to write.
Thoughts that consciously dwell on matching or subverting the expectations of an audience are a sign that you either no longer believe in what you are doing, or that you've outgrown it. A few years ago I was having moderate success as a writer. Publishers weren't banging on my door but I was getting short stories in journals. Pieces of my writing were being performed at home and abroad. I was even making a little money, but something felt off. I felt like I was stuck in orbit - one that was not of my choosing - circling but never going anywhere.
I reflected on some other writers I knew who were in a similar position. It was obvious that they were on a treadmill and it followed that I was too. That troubled me, because I want my creative endeavours to be a progression, not necessarily in terms of career or anything tangible, but certainly in terms of intent.
I stopped writing for a couple of months while I pondered the question: 'What the hell am I doing?' - a phrase that I think I might enshrine as a personal motto, in Latin for the sake of tradition and authenticity. The accompanying crest will incorporate a confused unicorn that evidently hasn't been instructed on where to stand or what pose to assume.
The conclusion I arrived at is that I am happier when I am writing. I am more engaged in the world and more appreciative of my surroundings. Writing fiction allows me to address experiences that I will never discuss with anyone, and will take with me to my grave, in a way that is transformative. The process of writing holds more value for me than the finished product.
I thought about how I could continue to write in a way that was meaningful. The first thing I did was detach myself from my past. I stopped writing under my real name and switched to my present alias which is an anagram of my Christian name and my surname. I reduced the number of short stories I churned out and instead turned my focus on novels which I find I prefer. I resolved to write what I wanted to write, rather than pandering to gatekeepers, which is a miserable and dishonest way to live.
The genuine reason why you do something often takes time to reveal itself. What you originally identified as the purpose, was only the larval stage of your understanding. It turns out that it was something completely different; usually something more personal.
Well, whether or not you write here are again I’ll look forward to hopefully seeing you IRL at some point. And yes, writing here mustn’t become an obligation. I like Jane’s comment though, about a more philosophy-focussed book, that could be the core of a longer-term idea if it appeals.
I have this abiding memory of you hovering at some point outside my office, probably pre-Covid, and I said what’s up, and you said, “I think I just told a Dean in the [another department] to fuck off”, so I invited elaboration, and it proved that yes you had in fact done that.
Come back. We have more people we need you to tell to fuck off.
He deserved it, too.
I hope you'll continue to write, because your writing is the only thing that drops into my inbox weekly that I open immediately. There are so many people, pretending to be what they're not and this is so much the opposite of all that. I'd read your book. If you chose not to continue to write I will miss your musings, but wish you recovery and purpose in whatever form is possible.
I’ve had a similar set of thoughts and feelings. I started my Substack when recovering from a near fatal anaphylactic shock and I was in bed most of the last year.
Now things are much better and I’m about to start work and not quite so drastically emotional about life I have been struggling more with writing. Having a bought of depression has not helped either.
I’m keeping it going but not quiet so often as I did. Focusing more on improving writing style as a hobby than anything else.
I have started up a business Substack using my old management consultancy knowledge but struggling to be motivated so that is already not happening.
Who knows if will continue but I do like Substack as a platform so will see. I do love reading yours and others posts though so will at least continue with that.
Thank you Paul. Your writing and your articles are invaluable.
I'm sure if you want to write another article then you will write it. If you don't want to write here again then you won't. It's your call.
A publisher may want to produce the articles together as a powerful book or there may be no interest. I would not rule out either option nor would I spend energy worrying about this, if it has started to become a concern.
Robert
A potential book could focus on philosophy. I have enjoyed this aspect of your posts very much. Philosophy has always scrambled my brain but you write about it in an accessible and interesting way. Just a thought. Substack is a kind of living book, almost Dickensian.
Paul, As a sometime GP, I read your posts not because you have had a particular form of injury but for the depth and honesty of your reflections. Writings such as yours are in short supply in the medical humanities field. Who knows how in the future a career may be stimulated by your writings? Or how the provision of care be transformed by insights you provide.
https://blogs.bmj.com/bmj/2019/07/08/the-transformative-power-of-patient-narratives-in-healthcare-education/
Adrian
Thanks for this post. I do hope you continue to write this blog. I get a lot out of reading it, and even if I don't respond I continue thinking about your posts for days. I have learned a great deal from reading your thoughts about human resilience and what that means. Your posts about freedom and agency were particularly meaningful to me. I am very much hoping that you settle into a more humane and bearable life (not merely existence) now that you are home. You still have a lot to offer so if you feel that you want to continue writing, I will continue reading.
Paul, I enjoy reading your posts but wouldn’t want you to feel it’s too much of a burden to continue. For me, if you simply wanted to post something brief, like, guys I’ve decided on the colour to paint the walls , no thoughts yet on wall art, that would suffice You are a gifted writer. If not a book, ever thought of writing for the screen? Your experience of climbing and your current situation are an unknown for many of us and you’ve a unique knowledge. But also you can ditch that idiom, write what you know, and let your imagination take you wherever it wants to.
Dear Paul
I have never met you but began reading these posts early on. Thank you for them. They have given me new perspectives on so many aspects of being alive. I hope you check in from time to time. I really do. Of course no pressure, but I have looked forward to your insights and shall really miss them. S
Hello Paul, just to say I really appreciate your writing, but I know the struggle of feeling obligated. I think the solution to that is to allow yourself to write when you feel like it. People get into this idea that they have to keep up a regular rhythm with posting, which, sure, if that's when / how your ideas arise, but I've found there are fallow phases both in the short term and the long term, and I think it leads to more interesting work to just write when you feel like it and don't when you don't. In any case it's been super interesting to follow you so far.
Thanks Paul.
No pressure to come up with anything that doesn't add something positive to your catastrophic life changes.
To me, your writing has, at times, felt like a conversation in the wilderness. I love Jane's comment about the Dickensian living book that is Substack.
This is a forum where you have control. Make it count only on your terms.
Best wishes. A
I agree with you that this is not a book nor material for the kind of book you talk about in this column - but you are a philosopher and historian so it might be raw material for a different kind of book on the philosophy of disability (see, for example, work by Eve Kittay and Elizabeth Barnes) if you ever felt like using your experience in this way or on disorientation and moral life (see Ami Harbin's book of this title). Of course, you may very much not want to go these routes (and there is no obligation to do so) but they are routes that your experience and disciplined brutal articulation of this experience make available if you felt inclined to travel in either of these directions.
I've read all of your posts Paul and yes, they've been tough reading at times. We've never met (I know your Mum) but I hope that this next stage of your recovery goes well for you. If you do write more, I'll be reading. If you don't, so be it. Thank you for the insights. Jools
I love reading your column, and hope that you feel enough benefit yourself to continue. As a person with ms, and disability, I have always found it fascinating how friends with serious health issues have seemed much more interested in my problems/difficulties than the average punter, not seemingly as a voyeur but as a way of coming to terms with how they themselves cope.
As an aside, I told a climbing pal about your column, and he told me why you are now a punter. As a racing cyclist, we called non cyclists civilians.
Please do continue to write. I stopped when I returned home from rehab and I miss it, i still have to find a replacement for it.