Why I Am A Bad Writer

What I reckon, and what I don't

Now, obviously on reading the title of this piece, you will be crying aloud, “What on earth are you on about, Ben? You are a brilliant writer, most likely the best in the world? Are you drunk or somehow addled by cares?”

Well, yes, I’m being a bit sneaky there. Obviously I know I’m a great writer, and I’d never pretend not to be. However, there are some ways in which I don’t quite fit the mould of a proper writer, in particular concerning the writerly temperament. And I’m thinking of these things a lot lately. Basically, as good a writer as I am (very), I find myself wondering more and more whether I should be a writer.

Now, the qualities that I possess that suit me for the writer’s life are several, and once upon a time I would’ve thought they were quite enough to make the profession fit me like a glove. These include such factors as:

• I have a deep love of, and facility with, words

• I am a fertile source of clever ideas

• I am a very good speller

• I know heaps of stuff

• I live a sad, lonely life with no love or companionship to distract me from my art

• I am extremely unattractive

• I simultaneously believe myself to be vastly inferior and much better than everyone else

All of these constitute a good start for anyone who wants to make a living writing. But, at least in the modern era, it’s not really enough. I am really struggling to reconcile my actual identity as a writer with the identity that a writer needs.

In a nutshell, I just don’t believe my opinion matters all that much.

This is a massive problem, because the business of writing, in this the year of our lord 2026, is mostly the business of telling people what you reckon as loudly and insistently as possible, with the unshakeable confidence of somebody with a bone-deep conviction that every person who never hears your views will die without realising their full human potential.

Have you noticed how often writers use the phrase “we need to talk about”? It can be applied to anything. We need to talk about fiscal policy. We need to talk about landmines. We need to talk about Taylor Swift’s erasure of the Filipino experience. We need to talk about transphobia in the street mime community.

What people mean when they say “we need to talk about” is “you need to listen to me talking about”. Be assured that nobody using the phrase has any intention of engaging in a dialogue. What they intend is to inform you of THE WAY IT IS, and you will pay attention, dammit, because what they’re going to say is not only true, but crucial to our hopes of building a better world.

I really don’t think what I say falls into that category. Not very often, anyway.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think it’s important that you read what I write. But more in the sense of “you are going to bloody love this, and if you don’t read it you’re depriving yourself of pleasure, and why would you do that?”

Put it this way. Most writers think it’s important that you read what they write in the same way that it’s important that you watch Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette: you have to because it’s how you become a better person. I think it’s important that you read what I write in the same way that it’s important that you watch the movie Condorman: you have to because your life will be more fun that way. Also, the kind of writers I’m talking about are actually the only people who DO think it’s important that you watch Nanette, but they are extremely sure about that.

I’m rarely sure about things to that extent. To be a writer so often means not just being sure enough of the things you believe that you’ll apply them to your own life; it means being so sure of them that you’ll issue stirring calls to others to apply them to their lives too.

I am that sure about things sometimes, but with me that level of certainty is reserved either for the trivially obvious or the obviously trivial. So I am absolutely certain that racism is wrong, and equally certain that Tim Burton’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is the best adaptation of Roald Dahl’s book. I am firm in my conviction that vaccines work, and just as firm in my belief that Richard Ayoade should’ve played Doctor Who. But most of the stuff in between those things…well, I suffer doubts.

Writers are supposed to suffer doubts, of course. Well, they’re supposed to say they do. They’re supposed to disseminate that quote about “The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence”. Which might’ve been originally said by Charles Bukowski, but I’m really not prepared to assert that for certain, because I am full of doubts. You see?

But writers are only supposed to say that they are full of doubts, and that being full of doubts is the best way to be. Writers are supposed to state quite definitively that to be wise is to be constantly unsure, and that only idiots are always sure of themselves. They are then supposed to live their lives as if they are utterly sure of themselves at all times.

That’s how you make your way as a writer in this world: by utter self-assurance. Pick a subject, decide what you think about it, and then push that out into the world without a skerrick of doubt. Tell people what you reckon, tell them that if they disagree they’re wrong, and tell them how to mend their ways so they can be as good as you are.

To be a writer you really do need a near-invincible sense of moral superiority, and the chutzpah to hammer that into your audience’s brain as hard and as often as possible. This should always be accompanied, naturally, by repeated reminders that we are very humble - indeed, a huge part of what makes us morally superior is how open we are to changing our minds and how much time we spend doubting ourselves. That’s how we know we’re better than you. It’s all the doubt we feel that convinces us of how right we must be. Because how could someone who is so beset by doubts be wrong?

Anyway, it doesn’t even matter that much whether I think I’m right about everything or not, because even if I am, I think the healthiest attitude to take is: who cares?

Honestly. Who cares what I think about anything? Do you? If you do, I have to say, that is kind of weird. Why would you? Who, if you’ll forgive me, am I?

I mean it’s not as if I have anything to teach you. Not much, anyway. I could teach you how to make fun of Masterchef contestants, or how the script of Barbie should’ve been improved, but I have very little to offer in the way of analysis of bilateral trade agreements or town planning.

Most importantly, despite my recurring delusions, I am absolutely, 100%, irrefutably, not more likely to be a good person or right about any particular issue than you are. And if you disagree with that…well, you could be right.

I mean, obviously I do think I’m right about everything. Everyone thinks they’re right about everything, because if there was a thing they didn’t think they were right about, they would change their mind. But most people don’t think they’re right about everything, because they know how unlikely that is. Do you see what I mean? It’s complicated, isn’t it? OK, let’s break it down. If you run through a list of all the things I have an opinion of, you will find that on every single one, I think my opinion is correct. But I will also concede that, on the balance of probabilities, some of them are probably incorrect. It’s just I don’t know which ones yet.

Anyway. Moving on.

The point is this. One obstacle to me writing thousands and thousands of words on what I reckon is that I do think the likelihood of me reckoning wrong things is high enough that it’s not a percentage play. But probably the bigger obstacle is that I think that even if I am right about everything, there is little to no value in me writing about it, because anyone who thinks what I reckon matters is a strange little person who should not be trusted.

Which is why I’m a bad writer. I abandon so many ideas for articles because having had the idea, I realise that what I have to say is utterly irrelevant and would contribute nothing to the world. I’m doing myself no favours, career-wise.

Luckily, though, as mentioned previously, I am a fucking amazing writer, so I will just fall back on my enormous talent instead.