And you know when you don’t blog for so long you get thinking. What is it all really about anyway? What is the point of carrying of on? Perhaps enough is enough. Time to shuffle off this digital coil and whisper sweet goodbyes to this cruel yet beautiful world of words and wordpresses we so lovingly refer to as blogging?
You see blogging has changed for me. Once blogs were a slightly subversive space on the edge of the internet. A place to scratch some words on a web log, a place to think out loud, a place to find through the words of others expression for those things that I felt deep inside but did not yet have a language for. Blogging shaped me, it changed me and I fell in love. Not with blogs per se but with the art of writing. I have always loved reading words and, when I have needed to be, I have been quite proficient at expressing myself in writing. But suddenly I found a love for the actual construction of a thought, the turn of phrase, the searching for just that right word. The exhilaration of that perfect phrase. And the agony of the finger poised above the delete button knowing that favoured phrase has to go.
But now it feels like everything has changed not only does every corporate and institution have their own perfect, shiny, soulless, tin-man blog. The Big Brother blog if you will. But as strangely complementary allies in the quest to destroy the soul of blogging, every mommy, pastor and pulse-having creature who can turn on a computer now fancies themselves as a writer. Yes, the Brave New Worlders are here too flooding the internet with noise and banality.
So is that it. Blogging… “real blogging” has had its day? Do we concede the ground to the upswell of the legit and the deluded? We abandon writing and instead become bitter cynics criticising all the commerciality and sloppy sentences. I’m tempted. It’s hard work writing. Writing well. Or trying to write well at any rate. It would be easier to do what I used to do just slop words on the screen. And let the vowels fall wherever they may. And often they did.
But no; somewhat cynical, somewhat deluded, I choose to once again lay my inarticulate fingers upon the keyboard and press into being new footprints on the old and worn paths of human searching and articulation. I will write because it brings me joy. It is my sincere hope that somehow in my faltering words you too will find joy.