It happens to the best of us. One day you’re just an innocent child prowling the virtual streets otherwise known as the Internet, the next you find yourself in possession of A Blog.
Aghast friends wring their hands. “But WHY,” they gesticulate, “on earth did you get one? What is up with this, ” they wring their hands further in an attempt to find the right word, “need to display your thoughts — and very unrefined, ignorant ones at that — for the cross examination of the general public?”
Indeed, friends, you are completely right. God knows there are too many blogs with very mundane content, written as though the author suddenly found herself without a companion to spew her insipid feelings or description of the day, and settled on the online medium instead, consoling herself that it has the additional bonus of remembering what she just said for eternity, or as long as the internet has space for it, anyway. Eternity. The horrors. Just as well we now have Twitter and other such things for 140 character thoughts. Condensed in that form it almost becomes wit.
A blog is an unwieldy possession to have. Blog posts, especially, require a longer attention span than settling on a tab in my Firefox for a sustained period of ten minutes. Thoughts which seem ever so important to announce to the world suddenly gain humility when bared on this blank canvas, and retreat to their world of backspaced characters. What a great place the modern world is, with its capacity to forgive! I urge all readers to hug tight their Ctrl-Zs, their ‘Delete’s, their highlight-and-replace-s. For the world was not always so forgiving. Think back to the days of the typewriter, when you could not — gasp — insert another paragraph between two others, just as it occurs to you!
A blog is also a sacred thing to possess. It has the potential to function as art, when one remembers that it is a written form, and one admires the flow of language as it delivers content. And henceforth this is where the conflict comes: if one is to dutifully, for, perhaps, historical purposes of documenting one’s life, record one’s thoughts, it can hardly be the case that our thoughts flow in beautiful sentences of rising and falling cadences. Unless, of course, one has perfected The Art, and is One with the essential breath of humanity, the fire of life, the song of the soul — I kid.
Seriously though, what is The Art? I would propose it is three cups of reverence, five tablespoons of appreciation, seven-and-a-half shakes of habitual reading tossed together to simmer for seventy-five years till golden brown. Or for the lucky ones, seventy years.
Ok I should go back to revision instead of trying to see how long I can talk about nothing. For some great blogs, check out http://pelicularities.net. I was in such admiration of her style that I had to dig up my dusty blog and draw hieroglyphics in the sand in my amateur attempts to achieve something like. And there you have it, friends, sometimes the reason to your question is, well, a tribute to the greats. A vent for fangirling, if you like.
…Nah. It’s obviously just to feed my narcissism. Duh.