writing about having nothing to write about.
From Murakami’s Novelist as a Vocation (p.82):
“When I began my first novel, Hear the Wind Sing, I knew I had no choice but to write about having nothing to write about.”
First things first: I have no delusion ambition to write a novel.
I want to write more because it’s becoming more and more clear to me that the only way I can get in dialogue with my own thoughts is to put them somewhere tangible 1. If I let them brew exist outside my mind, I can return some days later to see what they have to tell me. If I try to wrestle them in my mind, they run circles around me.
Unfortunately, doing so has been harder than I anticipated. For the longest time, I wanted to write this blog 2, but I felt constipated stumped about what even to write about. I still feel that way, even more so now because I am going through some dog days. My brain feels like a badly made soup. I throw a bunch of things at the imaginary wall in my mind, but nothing sticks.
Thankfully, I came across this quote from Murakami. It allowed me to at least write this nothingburger post about having nothing to write about. I am hopeful I have plenty in the tank to write about, but if I cannot scramble anything, I will come back here again and again to write about just nothing.