When Writing Becomes Wasted Ink
Scene: Zara and Kadija are sitting in a café. Zara is flipping through the last pages of a book, looking visibly unimpressed. She sighs, sets it down, and stirs her coffee absentmindedly.
Zara:
“I just finished this book, and I don’t get it. People keep saying it’s deep, but it just felt like the author was saying the same thing over and over with different metaphors.”
Kadija:
“Ah, so you’ve encountered the literary equivalent of a hamster wheel. Pages and pages of nothing, but dressed up so people can convince themselves they’re reading something profound.”
Zara:
“Exactly! Like, it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t saying anything new. Just a bunch of poetic phrasing about ‘the human condition’ and ‘the journey of life.’ I swear I read the same sentence three different ways across fifty pages.”
Kadija:
“And that’s the scam. They stretch five pages of actual content into 300, just to justify calling it a book. And then they hide behind ‘interpretation,’ so if you say it’s empty, they make you feel like you’re the one missing something.”
Zara:
“Right? I kept thinking, ‘Maybe I’m just not getting it.’ But no, I got it. There was just nothing to get.”
Kadija:
“That’s because they’re not writing to communicate. They’re writing to feel like ‘writers.’ The difference? A real writer has a purpose. A fake one just needs validation. And guess what? When you write without purpose, all you’re doing is wasting ink, destroying pens, and putting unnecessary strain on people’s neck ligaments trying to read your nonsense.”
Zara:
“It’s everywhere. Blogs, books, poetry, even tweets. People just throwing words onto a page because they think ‘writing every day’ makes them a writer.”
Kadija:
“It’s like turning on a faucet and just letting the water run for no reason. Do you know how ridiculous that is? You don’t do that with water. You don’t do that with money. But somehow, with words, people think wasting them is a virtue.”
Zara:
“And the worst part? They call it ‘art.’ Like, no, you’re just stretching a two-sentence thought into an entire book because you don’t actually have anything to say.”
Kadija:
“Exactly. And then they convince themselves they’re helping people. ‘Oh, I just want to share my experiences so others can learn from them.’ No, Sharon, nobody needed your 50-page reflection on how eating a croissant in Paris changed your perspective on life.”
Zara:
“Oh my God, yes! Like, I get it, some stories do help people, but it’s not universal. Your personal experience might mean something to someone in the same situation, but once they move past it, they don’t care anymore. That’s just how the world works.”
Kadija:
“Thank you. Subjective matters only matter to a small group of people for a short amount of time. But these writers act like their life story holds the universal key to enlightenment. No, your story just holds temporary relevance to a niche audience. That’s it.”
Zara:
“So basically, if you don’t have something to say, shut up.”
Kadija:
“Exactly. But instead, people convince themselves that writing exercises and ‘minimum word counts’ make them disciplined. Bro, stop the ass work. What is this nonsense? Writing for the sake of writing is the equivalent of a hamster running in circles—it’s movement, not progress.”
Zara:
“And then they want to call it a profession. Meanwhile, we have actual businesses filtering through their nonsense just to find the 1% of valuable content. Google literally exists because people can’t get to the point.”
Kadija:
“And that’s the final irony. People write ‘to help others’—yet their writing is the very reason others need help filtering through all the garbage. If they were actually efficient, Google would barely have a function.”
Zara:
“So what’s the lesson here?”
Kadija:
“Simple. If you have something to say, say it. If you don’t, shut up and leave the ink alone.”
