Not Writing

I can't write. 

It's 6am and I've turned the computer on to write the blog post I've been mulling over for a week. But the internet connection is defeating me. The computer gives up before a page is fully loaded. I reboot the modem. Wait. Sip the mug of hot water that is part of my morning routine. Try again. Nothing. There's a message on the screen that assures me it's trying, that it will keep trying. Before it gives up.

The Hate Race by Maxine Beneba Clark -
a book that made me think about the thread
of racism that runs deeply in our society.

The idea for the post began simply enough. I wanted to review two recent reads. The Hate Race by Maxine Beneba Clark and Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms by Anita Heiss. One a memoir set in Kellyville on the edge of Sydney in the 1980s. The other a cross-cultural romance set in Cowra in 1944. Seemingly they have nothing in common. And yet both books allowed me to stand in someone else's shoes - young Maxine, who's Afro-Caribbean heritage made her a target in the school yard and 17-year-old Mary, living a life controlled by the Aborigines Protection Act during the war. Both books reveal what it's like to be black in Australia. And both books allowed me to learn what Australian racism looks like. I wanted to explain how they showed me how deeply ingrained racism is in our country. Most of us say we aren't racist. We love Chinese and Vietnamese food. We buy sushi for lunch and tickets to Bangarra Dance Theatre. But both books made me wonder about my very white upbringing, about whether I too am complicit.

One of the beautifully coloured
homes of Georgetown.

I am not writing. I thought participating in the Sydney Story Factory's Pen to Paper Challenge would be a wonderful reboot. Instead, I'm struggling. I'm avoiding. Yesterday, I helped the 11-year-old clean his room. I was thinking about the blog post, though. Thinking I'd write it in the evening. I'd turn it into a travel post on Georgetown in the US instead. I selected photos, researched the history of Georgetown on my phone. In the evening, with everyone else tucked in bed, I read Good Weekend. Sam Dastyari's problems and the role Scientology played in the end of Tom and Nicole's marriage were so much more compelling.

But my thinking was overwhelmed by my Twitter feed. All week, I scrolled through articles and comments about Lionel Shriver's speech about cultural appropriation, given at the Brisbane Writers Festival. I watched Twitter as Yassmin Abdel-Magied walked out. I read her impassioned explanation, Lionel's speech, Marlon James' Facebook post, Caroline Overington's comments, and Maxine Beneba Clark's report of meeting Lionel Shriver. And in the midst of it all, Pauline Hanson gave her second maiden speech in the Australian Parliament, replacing her 'swarm of Asians' with her 'swarm of Muslims'. 

Where, I wondered, did my simple review fit in all of this? Did I have anything new to add? Annabel Crabb in the Sydney Morning Herald and Nesrine Malik in The Guardian seemed to say it so much better.

Now, this morning, I'm here to face the screen. Willing. Committed. But the internet won't oblige. It's recalcitrant. It won't cooperate. It's a blank screen that will not load. I'm not putting fingers to the keyboard this morning.

If I want to write, I have to revert to first principals. I have to put pen to paper, follow the advice of the Sydney Story Factory to the letter. This isn't a keyboard challenge. It's pen to paper. I have to face the page, not the screen. Pick up the pen, hold it in my hand.

The pen bulges where my fingers grip it and my grip is tight. I dig words into the page. My hand can't keep up with the words. My hand tires in a way my fingers never tire on the keyboard. No matter how I twist the pen, how I adjust my grip, sooner or later the metal clip digs into the soft skin at the base of my index finger. It's uncomfortable. Awkward. But I'm holding on tight. Not giving up yet. Still writing.

This post was written as part of the 2016 Sydney Story Factory Pen to Paper Challenge. I'm inspired by the work of Sydney Story Factory. I'd like to help them grow so that, one day, Martian Embassies will be all over this country. So during September I'm putting pen to paper - and hopefully rebooting my blog. If you enjoyed this post, please give whatever you can. Let's help the Sydney Story Factory grow.