The Soul-Sucking Reality of Posting Every Day.

And why you should proceed with soul-sucking abandon.

“No surprise in the writer. No surprise in the reader.” Robert Frost

There’s an article in Writers Guild called “Is Publishing an Article Every Day a Mistake?” The writer, Aaron Schnoor, brought up Seth Godin. Godin has 600,000 visitors per month and over one million subscribers. “But here’s the crazy part,” Schnoor wrote. “Seth Godin publishes an article every single day.”

I’ve read Godin for years now, just as I’ve read Jack London, Eric Ambler and Hunter S. Thompson. The difference is simple. Unlike London, Ambler or Thompson, Godin may not have a soul. Out of all his articles, there is nothing but tame lectures, and incidental observations. When it comes time to analyze the man, his writings will tell nothing but the obvious: People read him. People found him interesting. People thought he might be a machine.

You blog each day, you raise your profile, people read you and, voila, you’re the next blogging star.

We follow Godin, thinking readership is the mark of a good writer. He’s what the internet is all about, right? You blog each day, you raise your profile, people read you and, voila, you’re the next blogging star.

Schnoor believes this is the equation we should all follow. Publish ever day and you not only raise your profile — you become a better writer.

Well, writing every day does make you a better writer. I’ve done it nearly 50 years now, and I hope I’m better. That doesn’t mean I publish every day. I never have, and I never will. And here’s why: I can’t.

No, it’s not because I have a job, or kids, or other obligations. I gave up my obligations so I could write. The reason I can’t do it every day is because of books. I have at least three open, usually by William Zinsser, Hunter S. Thompson and, believe it or not, Shel Silverstein. Before I even start to write, I read an article, a paragraph, or a Silverstein poem.

Are we really writers when the most shocking thing we say isn’t that shocking — or even original?

All these writers have what Robert Frost surmised: “No cry in the writer, no cry in the reader. No surprise in the writer. No surprise in the reader.”

I think about that, wondering how this applies today. Are we really writers when the most shocking thing we say isn’t that shocking — or even original? Now imagine submitting on a regular basis. It takes a lot of dumb courage doing that without feeling the cold chill of obsolesce blowing down our necks.

From time to time, I’ll pick up Thompson’s “He Was a Crook,” his eulogy to Richard Nixon: “Richard Nixon was an evil man — evil in a way that only those who believe in the physical reality of the Devil can understand it. He was utterly without ethics or morals or any bedrock sense of decency.”

In thirty-eight words, Thompson created two characters — one being Nixon, the other Thompson himself. Through the article, he intertwines the two, showing his hatred for a man he called “a monster straight out of Grendel.”

Hatred for Nixon crossed generations. What better way to show that than to mention his mother? That’s what good sons should do. Even if it’s just to trash Nixon.

He’s emotional because it’s an emotional topic. Even his mother hated Nixon. That admission caused me to laugh — until I realized the relevance. Hatred for Nixon crossed generations. What better way to show that than to mention his mother? That’s what good sons should do. Even if it’s just to trash Nixon.

Or who doesn’t cry, or feel some tug of emotion by this small yet deceptively complex poem by Shel Silverstein: “She had blue skin, And so did he, He kept it hid, And so did she, They searched for blue, Their whole life through, Then passed right by — And never knew.”

Writing, in other words, isn’t just content. The writers I mentioned laboured to create feeling — and possibly tears. Anyone more worried about views or likes isn’t writing. They’re blogging.

When someone like Aaron Schnoor advocates writing every day, the purpose of writing descends to disposability. I can’t call it anything else because the sheer weight of blogs today is, frankly, frightening.

Medium encourages this for reasons outside of my reckoning. Perhaps through the constant rotation and replacement of articles, it satisfies our need for something different every minute of the day. Yet nothing sticks, nothing forms more than a minor interest — and it’s very apparent.

When I was on Writer Beat and Linkedin, I averaged about twenty comments per day. On Linkedin today, I might get one or two.

Since I started posting articles four years ago, I’ve noticed a remarkable decline in comments. When I was on Writer Beat and Linkedin, I averaged about twenty comments per day. On Linkedin today, I might get one or two.

Either I’ve become boring with age, or we’ve become skimmers. When a 6 minute article averages less than 28.4 seconds, I have to ask myself, “What’s happened to reading?”

Have we become skimmers? Are we only captivated by headlines like: “I Can Only Orgasm When My Husband Sings Oklahoma”?

Admittedly, I’ve written headlines like “The Psychology of Nipple Sucking” and “The Rules of Foreplay.” Despite the titles, I research heavily. I want a quote that says something remarkable, like when women were asked if sex causes temporary deafness. “That’s God’s gift to women,” GoofyGibbin said, “so we don’t have to listen to our boyfriends ask, How was I?”

It’s funny, sure, but it also reflects a sense of boredom. I’m surprised how much boredom exists out there. And not just with sex. We seem bored with life, despite our access to every form of information and entertainment.

Medium says, “Keep writing and increase your views.” How long will it be before the scanners and the skimmers get tired of doing even that?

“That’s God’s gift to women,” GoofyGibbin said, “so we don’t have to listen to our boyfriends ask, How was I?”

At one point in my life, I worked at a small radio station. There was a car dealer always complaining about no business. So I did the craziest spots you can imagine. The following Saturday, he sold four cars.

He called and asked how that happened? “I’ve advertising for years,” he said. I told him it was simply standing out from the crowd. Crazy can be an emotion, too. Sometimes it pays to be crazy. Sometimes, as William Zinsser once said about Hunter S. Thompson, “We read him because he’s writing well, with humour, and not looking over his shoulder.”

“The only people for me are the mad ones,” Jack Kerouac said, “the ones who are made to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved…”

Compare that with Seth Godin. In his book “This Is Marketing” he writes, “Marketing is all around us. From your very first memories to the moment before you opened this book, you’ve been inundated by marketing.”

That doesn’t make you literary. There’s no heart to it. There’s no feeling. There’s no emotion.

Now, Godin writes clearly. He sells books. But it’s not writing. It’s blogging. You can write well in blogs. That doesn’t make you literary. There’s no heart to it. There’s no feeling. There’s no emotion.

So, Aaron Schnoor, yes, you’re right. Godin is successful. He writes every day. He improves his profile. He makes a bunch of cash.

If we want a disposable world, this is it. One blog after another. Fight for those views. Write to supposedly get better. Just don’t expect to be remembered.

If you don’t care about that, Godin’s your man.

Robert Cormack is a satirist, novelist and blogger. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)”is available online and at most major bookstores. Check out Skyhorse Press or Simon and Schuster for more details.