The best talkers are listeners.

 

I attended a writing workshop today.

 

Yes, it's going to be an exciting blog.

 

I was really looking forward to this workshop. I look forward to them all. I love learning about the craft, discussing writing with peers and experts, and getting inspired to go forth and work on my projects.

 

Today’s workshop was disappointing. Not because the facilitator was lacking, nor because the content was disinteresting.

 

It was because my writing peers seemed to translate the concept of a ‘writing workshop’ into a ‘group therapy’ session.

 

Cold, heartless beast might I be, but I’m sorry, time is precious to me these days, and taking a full day out from three jobs and a full-time university degree to prioritise my love of writing is a big deal to me. If I feel there’s something personal I need to discuss, I’ll seek a referral from a GP and put that mess in the box it belongs. Or I’ll go home and write about it. Or I'll get drunk and call my sister. Like healthy people do.

 

What I won’t do is use time allocated to focus on honing my craft to indulge in ‘my story’. We all have a story. That’s why everyone on the planet is a writer (You are. Your Facebook posts are published material, just so you know…Did you proof read…?!).

 

Some people’s stories today were fascinating, heartbreaking, and truly intriguing. I am not discounting the validity of the personal story. But I was there to learn how to tell the story better, not to engage in a competition of who had the most tragic personal anecdote.

 

I brushed the frustration off and headed home ready to work on some techniques I did actually absorb today.

 

This evening I came home and sat at my computer and commenced my standard writing preparation ritual: Facebook.

 

For the umpteenth time I scrolled through ‘news article’ after ‘news’ article of utter bullshit. Apparently members of One Direction committed the ultimate offence of smoking a joint the other night.

 

Well. Holy-fuck-me-dead. If the individual who broke that riveting piece of investigative journalism feels a sense of accomplishment this weekend, I really should not burst their Walkley-deserving-high by disclosing that had they been a fly on the wall at any gig I worked on or attended in the past seventeen years, they just might have had the globe’s most disturbing front-page bombshell.

 

A joint is a quiet night in, mate. That’s rock’n’roll’s equivalent to a few Hail Mary’s and a peppermint tea.

 

If every muso who smoked a joint was news, the Telegraph would surpass War and Peace in content daily. If the amount of trees being massacred by the number of Tally-Ho being burnt up was not a news story in itself, perhaps the equivalent in extra newspaper production would be. Get on that 60 Minutes. Blow my mind.

 

Let me just spark a joint first, so I can actually find it interesting.

 

I’m not alone in my opinion on how infuriatingly pointless this ‘news’ is. I briefly scanned the thousands of comments on one post – all – not some – all stating how exasperated they were by the fact that this supposedly respected publication considered this worth violating their precious newsfeed. That shit bumped off a cat video for Christ’s sake.  

 

People are fed up with click bait. We are sick of the vacuous celebrity culture fisting our subconscious’ every second on every device we engage with.

 

The consequence of living in an ultra-connected world is that we are more aware than ever of the problems facing humanity globally. As a race we are conscious of the struggles of our brothers and sisters down the street and on the other side of the world.

 

We might be privileged and spoiled enough to access to the internet that provides us with this information and choose to express outrage in the atrocity that is Taylor Swift’s attempt to ‘dance’ and share three second videos of some bogan in Campbelltown doing a burn-out in his Torana, or share sappy memes that declare love for their children (please), but deep-down the shift of awareness to what really matters is happening and it’s happening just as quick as the next iphone will be released.

 

Media everywhere, we want and expect more from you now. We know your budgets are being slashed and you think Lara Bingle and Sam Worthington’s selfie is more deserving of page three than an article about domestic violence or elder abuse or indigenous affairs or the youth body image epidemic or animal welfare or pollution, but for me, all it does is repel me from your brand and motivate me to seek the truth of the world elsewhere.

 

The conversation is occurring publicly, in real time, all over the internet and living rooms all over the world.

 

If it's your job to talk, perhaps you should consider listening first.

 

 

 

 

 

I whinge here too!