raw meat saves lives
or, the case for bad writing
I recently read two poorly written books. And yet, I received real pleasure and insight from them.
If bad writing can be so impactful, is it selfish to keep our unfinished works to ourselves?
Bad writing lacks stylistic or creative merit. These books, for example, were overwritten working papers that “should have” been distilled into a synthesized final product.
And yet, amidst the tedium, I received novel insights and pleasure. I’m grateful to those who shared these words with the world. Courage indeed.
Would these books have been more enjoyable—and more impactful—if they were well written? Yes.
Does a great deal of valuable work stay unpublished while it awaits edits that never come? Also yes.
Elegant prose is a gift to the reader. It dissolves on the tongue. I get chills from the way sentences turn toward each other. I am enlightened without effort.
Yet, in a life with limited time and focus, the real question we face is this: “Should I share this piece now, as it is—or never share it at all?”
My writing generally gets better with time and effort. But with each delay, there is a chance all will be lost forever. I am easily distracted.
I wonder at what stage in a work’s evolution the world would benefit.
Early drafts are like raw meat. How rare do you really want it?
(ADD tangent on “rawness” — I am obsessed with content that feels raw. But what I really want is something both raw and perfect. I want authentic connection elegantly delivered. Social media creators work hard to manufacture spontaneity. What is truly “raw” versus what is lazy editing?)
A brief case study: this post began as voice notes to myself in the car. Then came spastic scribbles on paper during an accounting call about Section 382 limitations. Right now, I’m typing into Apple Notes on my phone while flipping through the scribbles and slurping pozole.
My standard pattern would be to abandon the venture for days or weeks. If I return, I review the draft with (hopefully) fresh clarity and try a few turns toward a fuller essay. At some point my brilliant, long-suffering mother Karen receives a draft. We review her comments together. Then I move to Substack, choose a picture, anxiety‑read it again, and press send.
The process is often slow. If I lowered the bar quality I could share more things with more people. It could be a curious experiment.
In the spirit of bad writing, these pozole‑stained notes will be dumped directly onto the blog. I will commit to reading twice over and then sending.
Remember dear reader, your bad writing could save a life - or at least save a friend from boredom on a cold winter morning.
—
Vancouver - Nov 2025
Even as one of your editors, I TOTALLY agree with this post.