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Conversations with the voices inside my head, usually about my path to self-understanding. |
| Yet another Blah-g. Seems like every place I go, these days, there's a blog utility attached to the site. As always, this is about personal exploration and honest self-inquiry. |
| The more I contemplate it, perhaps the right schedule for keeping a blog is "one post every 4-5 years." It's a bit like those copied "Christmas Letters" some people are fond of sending-- "Catching up with a year of activity in the Joneses life in 700 words." I say this because unless you happen to be one of about 17 people in the world who consistently sit down and write entertaining and scintillating prose, nobody really cares about your personal blog musings beyond getting an occasional "highlight reel." The 47th iteration of "So I went back the doctor so she could re-examine my genital warts" generally doesn't hold my attention. Now, where was I? Oh... writing. I have gradually come to terms with the reality that I don't keep up with blogs, or writing columns, or even trying to write a book because I simply lack the discipline to site down and write, on a regular basis. Well... that's not 100% true. But what I write seems to be pretty much in tune with whatever way the wind happens to be blowing, and most dedicated (not to mention successful) writers don't really work that way. So I'll just take being an "occasional keyboard-pecker" and be done. Happy-ho-ho-Holidays to you! |
| I must have been trying to fool myself, when I thought I'd become a technical writer. Strike that. I was fooling myself. Actually, I was selling out. I looked at my need to make a living, my desire to write, and said "yeah, this is still writing." But I'm not technical writer. My writing doesn't "flow to order," it comes in fits and starts. So even though I was "still writing," my choice didn't make me feel like I was getting closer to what I wanted, it made me feel like I was getting further away. What's more, I developed a dislike for the written word, my creative spark slowly atrophying in the face of duller-than-dishwater writing assignments. I sometimes wonder how many writers "never become," on account of the very simple need to make a living. Or does the lack of becoming have little to do with making a living, and everything to do with that person's approach... their perception of the next step as an "obstacle," or merely a "challenge?" At some point, I thought I would write. But I seldom write, because writing takes away valuable time from activities that might actually help me buy food, pay the rent, put gas in the car. As I contemplate this, I sadly realize that I remain quite low on the scale, in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. There's always the next lifetime, I suppose... |
| It seems, somehow, that blah-gs have become de-rigeur on almost every site that relies on user content. I keep waiting for eBay to add blogs as a new and improved feature in "My eBay." I probably shouldn't kid about it, though-- you never know what they might cook up next. Truth be known, I am grateful for the invention of the blog. I was never much good at keeping a pen-and-paper journal-- and I found myself having to burn them, periodically, when someone I didn't care for would get into them. That's one of the really weird things about the web. In Cyberspace we write and everyone and anyone under the sun can read our words, and we're not bothered. Yet, when my mother read my journals-- which rarely contained anything more private than finds its way into these electronic journals-- I felt compelled to go burn the evidence of my writing. Which just goes to show you that life very seldom makes sense. Some would suggest that I am much too old to keep a blog, that blogging is the domain of horny angst-ridden teens, and that it's outright creepy to have a 40-something male keep a blog. Too bad, so sad. |
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