Psycho Writer?

The Talking Heads “Psycho Killer” has been on my internal playlist ever since I first heard it almost 50 years ago. It was the first Talking Heads song that caught my attention and it never let go. I was lucky enough to hear it performed live by David Byrne this past year. It has lost none of its impact.

The second verse is especially haunting. It’s as if Byrne is talking directly to me.

                        You start a conversation, you can’t even finish it

                        You’re talking a lot, but you’re not saying anything

                        When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed

                        Say something once, why say it again?

I don’t want to blame the Heads for my silence over the last few months, but the more I tried to produce a post the more this refrain rang out.

My guess is that everyone who writes faces this same dilemma, though few cite David Byrne as the source of their angst. It is exceedingly difficult to express anything worth putting into print, let alone reading, when you have been doing so on a regular basis. The same themes and verbal tricks crowd the mind, shutting out anything original.

I have great respect for columnists who write on a regular schedule. These word warriors have no choice but to meet deadlines that do not permit slacking. Even for them, if you consume them regularly, you see the same motifs repeatedly dressed up in different costumes. I do not begrudge them that necessity, but it is wearing. Those that can keep your attention over a long period of time are few and far between.

This is especially true now. We are bombarded by content, even if we try and limit it. With the targeting algorithms, the 24 hour “news” stations, and the ever-spouting pundits, it seems like anything worth regurgitating has already been spewed forth. It is one of the reasons I rarely write on political matters. Someone somewhere has likely said anything I could conceive of, and probably much better than I ever could.

The real danger is that content stops being spontaneous and you become a mere caricature of yourself, putting out what has worked before and eschewing any active creativity. This is especially noticeable in sports announcers who have found a catch phrase. Whether it’s Dick Vitale’s “Awesome, Baby”, Chris Berman’s “Back, back, back, back…gone”, or Keith Jackson’s “Whoa Nelly”, there’s a sense that these phrases are just being used because it’s expected. What was once stirring becomes as stale as week old bread.

Writers may not use catch phrases, but the same problem persists. I look askance at prolific authors like Stephen King, Joyce Carol Oates and James Patterson. To produce a book every six months or so they must rely on tried-and-true patterns, and it’s noticeable. Try reading two of their books back-to-back and you will feel as if you’re just reading one book with the names changed to protect the not so innocent.

Unfortunately, this is a phenomenon common to most endeavors. Musicians find a comfortable groove and repeat it again and again. It’s why we keep going back to early recordings to find the energy and invention that attracted us in the first place (like Elvis’ Sun label records). Similarly, painters find a style and never let it go, just churning out variations on a theme.

I often think that genius is the ability to jettison what went before and risk pursuing new paths. Whether it’s Picasso moving from “period” to “period”, or the Beatles progressing in a few short years from “I Want to Hold Your Hand” to the Abbey Road medley, the ability to change and yet maintain that spark of inventiveness is both inspiring and rare.  

This is a convoluted way of saying (hmm, sidetracks – one of my signature motifs?) that I had to stop and catch my breath. My writing felt more and more robot-like. It lacked the inventiveness I long for. The song in my head kept shouting, “Say something once, why say it again”. I needed to ask myself whether I wanted to keep going.

After taking some time off, I realized that the answer to that question was “Yes”. I missed putting my thoughts down, as chaotic as they often are. In fact, it’s often the need to formulate those thoughts for the page that allow them to rise above the randomness that are their most striking characteristic.

There is one major problem. I am no very stable genius (No, No. No need to protest). I am inevitably going to fall into ruts and repeat myself. So, as we head into the new year, look forward to new content, for better or worse.

Even with this resolve, I know that I will feel David Byrne cringing with every click of the keyboard. I will endeavor to ignore his admonitions and press forward. Maybe I’ll just put some more upbeat Byrne on Spotify, like “Everybody laughs”, or “I Dance Like this.”. Qu’est-ce que c’est.