Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Why I don't understand blogging (and why I secretly love it)

In 2005, I started writing posts on Livejournal.  As I was worried it would be, it was a melodramatic mess most of the time.  Which was probably (definitely) what I needed it to be at the time - I needed to whine.  I needed to work through all of the junk words pouring out of me like so much pseudo-literary diarrhea in the hopes that getting them out would make something stick that was worthwhile.

And you know what?  It worked.  Some of the best writing of my life came out of those few years (though very little of it actually appeared in that journal).  Part of it was where I lived, the friends that surrounded me.  Part of it was the job that I had, the time that I had to read and write.  Part of it was what was happening to me in my life at the time.  Part of it was the intense homesickness I was feeling - how lost I was.  But part of it was pouring out all of those "junk words" into a disposable format where I didn't have to worry about anyone taking it too seriously (or reading it, really, if I am to be honest with myself).  I loved it because I could be brutally honest (while still trying to write to impress) and no one would pay much attention.

But I come back to that term - junk words.  The truth is (and apologies to my writer friends if you are reading this) I seldom read author's blogs.  I think it's because I feel like I would rather read their "finished" work, whatever that means.  In this day and age, all writers are expected to have blogs, twitter accounts, Facebook accounts, Instagram...  From what I understand, agents won't even take you in without all of these things.  And sometimes I wonder if forcing writers to be "on" all of the time - so socially active - doesn't take something away from their writing.  Every minute I think about what I will type on this blog is a minute that I'm not writing. 

[Of course, that all circles back to what one considers to be valuable "writing."  It's something that I am working on within myself - the division between internet publishing and print.  (And that will definitely be something that I address at some point in this grand experiment...) ]

So, there it is.  In essence, the blogger questioning the reason for blogs while (backhandedly) praising them as he starts his own.  Probably not the most original opening blog post, but it's what I have right now.  (Without making it the same melodramatic mess I came up with back in '05, at any rate...)  I have a blog - doing my civic duty as a writer who is hoping to one day need an agent, who is hoping to one day have fans - fans that may have no interest in reading my blog because they only want to read my "finished" work.  No worries - I understand.