I find myself with a platform.
Most days, I sit down and write a blog post— Or rather— I’m sitting down with nothing to do, so I decide to write a blog post.
For me, it’s practice.
I write to practise writing. I always struggle with writing so my solution is to write loads.
Writing helps me to get better at articulating myself. In a way, “speaking” feels like a form of writing. It just happens in real time.
With writing, I get to look back and edit, to restructure and improve my words. I can look at the kind of—
With writing, I get to look back and edit my words. I get to restructure and improve my sentences. I can scrub through different styles, both the formal and—
I always struggle with writing so my solution is to write loads.
As I write, I get to look back and edit my words, restructure and improve my sentences. I flit— I explore the different styles available to me—
I’m not working on a particular style of writing. It’s more that I’m— I explore the styles of writing that are available to me. I develop my voice.
As I do this, I learn to articulate myself better, a skill I have always struggled with— Writing helps me— I find words so—
Whether I’m writing a script, or giving a talk, or leading a meeting— answering a question, there’s writing— always writing involved, whether it’s written down or not— on paper or with speech— with letters or voice— So I practise it— practise every day and—
What should I write about, when I practise writing?
I suppose— I write whatever’s on my mind, so it turns into a sort of diary. Sometimes it’s personal and sometimes it’s— Actually— It’s always personal1.
Some of my posts get a lot of attention and some don’t. But that’s not the point. Or is it? Is that the point?
Why do I write? Is it to help me? Or you? To figure something out? Or get across a point? Can practice be more than just practice? Or—
So— I find myself wondering what to say. The fact that someone out there is listening— is reading— is listening—
I could tell you about anything— the genocide in Gaza. I could tell you about the different kind of genocide happening here. I could give you some advice, or cheer you up— wake you up, or calm you down—
I could write about something important. About the struggle I experience to get my medicine and exist. Or I could write about— I can’t possibly find— I find it so—
I am here, and so are you. And I guess we could wonder— wonder what to do.
What code should I transmit today? And who is it for? And who gets to say?
Is it really just practice? And nothing else or— I find myself with a platform— Can practice be just— Can practice be more?—
I typically write loads of things down around a single topic. Then I cut and cut and cut until there’s almost nothing left. Then I publish it. I probably need to write about ten times more than the length of the actual thing— This post is what it looks like if I don’t cut at all— only add. And it becomes a game of itself.
And it doesn’t feel right, to play such a “game” over topics so real and important.
But here I am. I find myself with a platform. I must make the most of it. And for that I need practice.
Most days, I write a blog post. Most days, people read it.
For one reason or other, I find myself with a platform.
If I didn’t make the most of that, I’d be a fool.
And for that I need practice. Just practice.
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