Why do I write?
What’s the point?
I was talking to somebody a few days ago who mentioned that they regularly read what I post on Substack and on LinkedIn. It’s true that I do post in two different places and, while there is sometimes an overlap, the overall aim of the posts isn’t quite the same. On LinkedIn, there is usually some sort of connection to the world of translation or interpreting, perhaps with a reasonably relevant point in conclusion at the end, although that definitely isn’t always the case. The way I write (and the way I think) isn’t necessarily organised enough for me to do that successfully every time.
Here on Substack, I tend to let myself go a bit more. The starting point might be a photo I’ve taken, or something I’ve seen while out and about, or it might be linked more tenuously to my job which, after all, is what puts food on my table. Sometimes it’s just because I’ve read something somebody else has written and liked the idea enough to borrow it and develop it in my own way. There’s something about imitation and flattery involved here but, in particular when it comes to something like photography, there’s a lot to be said (and seen) when one person takes another’s idea and gives it free rein. I’ve got a post festering somewhere at the back of my mind on shadows which has come about only because of two different articles on that subject that I’ve read here recently, but I hope (if I ever get around to it) to put my own stamp on it.
But who knows. Some ideas that fester for ages just fizzle out, without ever becoming words on a virtual page, which is probably just as well since, if they aren’t good enough to develop, they certainly aren’t good enough for anybody else to read.
Mind you, that isn’t necessarily the end of the story either. I’ve got a lilac in my garden which I planted about 25 years ago and which has never done anything at all. Eventually it got sort of eaten up by the rhododendron next to it, which was very happy and grew massively over the same period. A couple of years ago, I chopped the rhododendron back and found, much to my surprise, that the by now long-forgotten lilac was actually still there. Hidden, certainly, and not much bigger than it had been when I first planted it, but definitely not dead either. So I was careful to avoid it as I chopped and was rewarded, last year, with absolutely nothing except a slightly larger lilac branch. This year, however, it’s a completely different story, with that branch now a reasonable five feet tall, and flowering nicely, just a few yards from where I’m typing this.
I’ve been interpreting furiously for the last few days, and it’s been a delight to see and, as it continues to flourish, I’m expecting to have a ten-foot lilac watching me work within the next couple of years.
Where was I before I started talking about lilacs? Oh yes, some ideas that might reasonably be considered dead may well re-emerge from a hidden chrysalis at some point, butterfly style, flutter their delicate wings, and fly off into the world, quite possibly illustrated by some sort of tenuously linked photos. Or not, depending on what I can find.
But anyway, why did I start writing these things in the first place?
Well, once upon a time I used to write a regular column for a magazine. It started, many years ago, with the occasional article about topics such as how to use translation memories (at a time when many translators were able to make a perfectly good living while only using paper dictionaries) and one from 2009 which I’ve just dug out, which was an introduction to the concept of cloud computing (yes, it was already a thing back then, but not many people used it). I’m not going to reproduce it here, because it’s quite cringe-worthy, but the first paragraph explains how the MD at a company where I once worked didn’t understand why managers and sales personnel would need computers, since they would distract them from the business of actually selling, and there were perfectly good secretaries back in the office to that sort of computer thing.
That’s quite enough about that article except to say that I illustrated it (in arty black and white, since the magazine wasn’t colour back in those days) with a photo of my then state-of-the-art phone photographed in my garden, resting delicately against various plants.
Then, a few years and quite a few articles later, I ended up having to write a column at the back of every issue of the magazine. Quite by chance, this opportunity coincided with Covid, which meant that I didn’t have anything particularly meaningful to say about translation or interpreting, so I ended up just waffling about myself.
By the time the column came to an end three years later, I’d got into a rhythm of writing roughly 1,500 words of nothing for each issue, which was tough, but also quite a routine to get into (usually corresponding to the moment when the email turned up from the editor asking where the column was). And so, when I stopped, I realised that a part of me missed it and I kept having ideas, and so I just kept writing. I’ve put over 300 on LinkedIn, which over time seem to disappear magically into the ether, and some of those, along with new ideas, now turn up here on a regular basis.
Recently, Substack has gone the way of other social media platforms, with some fairly unpleasant names, of people I would most definitely cross the road to avoid, turning up in the “most popular” box on the right of the screen. I have no desire to move at the moment (there’s a good community here, and it takes time to build connections, so if it ain’t completely broken, I’m not going anywhere).
I’ve completely lost my train of thought now. When I started the first paragraph, this was going to be a post about bad translations I’ve photographed over the years, but it’s morphed into something quite different. The original idea may (or may not) resurface one day, lilac style, but for now, I think that’s quite enough and I’m going to go and see if I can find that 20 year old HTC phone in a box somewhere instead.
And in case you’re wondering, the photo (well, collage) that I spotted in my collection and which was going to be the original starting point for this post was this one. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with what I’ve written, but it’s been sitting in the corner of the screen since I started, and I’d hate to disappoint it, so here you are.
Thank you for reading.
If, quite understandably, the thought of subscribing is too much to contemplate, but you’ve enjoyed reading something I’ve written, then you also have the option to simply buy me an original idea (contributions may in fact be used to buy somebody else’s ideas, but I won’t tell if you don’t ask).
I enjoyed reading your ‘Interior monologue’ (I looked up ‘stream of consciousness’ and realised that your writing was not this as it ‘retains some logical structure and grammatical sanity’. I liked that AI description!). I especially liked the side-track about your lilac tree. It made me think of my garden, which I never write about. Maybe I will. As you say, some posts on Substack e.g. shadows, make you think about posts you might write. I might too. It reminded me of the phrase “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”.
I have enjoyed getting to know you better here, beyond the confines of the world of translation and interpreting. I also love it when your train of thought ends up as a bus.