Awkward Silence

I always tell people, "I'm a writer because I suck at talking." I can't think of a conversation I've had that didn't have some kind of awkward silence. It might be actual silence, or it might be hemming and hawing, or it might be me saying "I was gonna say something, but I forgot what it was" or it could be me saying, "I want to say something, but I'm not sure how to say it."

That last one is the most telling to me. I want to be very precise. I don't want to say the wrong words. Not only do I want to be technically accurate, I also want to give the right impression. For example, if I said "I spent the night with my friend", it may be true, but it sounds like we had sex. So in a conversation, I may spend an awkward silence trying to figure out how to express that I hung out with my friend through the night, but didn't have sex, and also not trip over my own words while doing so.

This is exactly why I say that writing the way you speak is not always the best advice. When I'm on a roll, I sound great. Everything in between those moments is tragically painful. This led me to an interesting thought, though. Within any given body of text, there are hours, if not days or months, of awkward silence that you don't see.

Writing is a collection of speech. But writing is idealized speech. Writers can take their time, plan their thoughts, and craft their words. All that time they spend staring into nothingness is an awkward silence.

For those writers who struggle with speech, feel free to use my line. I can vouch for its effectiveness. But realize that writing isn't magical; it just sweeps all of those awkward silences under a very large rug. But hey, out of sight, out of mind. For those writers who don't have awkward silences when they talk, congratulations. Go enjoy being awesome. I hope you can write as easily as you can talk.