Black Hole

I’m having a hard time lately finding any motivation for writing — novel work, blogging, letters. I’m a big-picture kind of person, all too aware of the major currents that swirl around us, not a good way to live for someone prone to depression. When I’m down, physically and mentally, the trivia that dominates the media seems to be an ocean swamping anything of real importance, and making it more apparent that humanity is in the process of committing suicide, and trying to take as much as possible of the natural world with it. Whether it’s Trump, Byonce, ISIS, the latest jaw-dropping technologies, even the causes that I support, it’s all ephemera that is in the process of being swept away by forces we choose to ignore.

In the face of the larger realities, my own writing has little point or significance. I suppose I’ll continue — eventually, but not today.

 

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2 thoughts on “Black Hole

  1. I know what you mean, I’ve got to the point at my age that I write IN SPITE OF, rather than because – like, because the work will make money, because lots of people are going to read it, etc. etc. It’s one of the last pitfalls fiction wiriters have to face on that long, lonely road. But once you get past it, there’s very little else ‘they’ can throw at you. So take heart. One more hurdle, and the last..

  2. But things are always bad – ask the media. They thrive on bad news SOMEWHERE in the world.

    It takes an enormous amount of mental energy to hold up under the constant barrage of nay-sayers.

    I read very little new, and watch practically none – it is too depressing AND I can’t do anything about most of it.

    But I write if I possibly can, because the time will pass, and the crisis of the week will pass, and we are fortunate that much of the upheaval doesn’t affect us.

    I don’t know what I’d do if freedom depended on me.

    My only influence on the world will come through the pages of my books – I rarely leave the house.

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