Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Is There a Blog?

I have been blogging in my head for some time. This is (as you can imagine) an extremely frustrating and pointless activity. In my imaginary blog I am brilliant. My audience is, of course, receptive and adoring and includes my blog idols (see links) and I develop meaningful blog relationships and dialogues and I get a book deal. Once I post my imaginary post, when the dream ends and when I wake…reality is a pale, frail thing. I remain---blogless.

Beyond this wishful blogging, I have made several actual attempts to fulfill my intra-web ambition, attempts which are in fact only dry heaves onto the pavement of the blogosphere. There exist, in the meshy wilderness of the World Wide Web, multiple vacant or nearly vacant blog addresses which I have created in fits of blog-desire. I create these little blips in cyberspace. I have great hope for these little blips. They will grow to become big blips with meaningful influence. Then I lose my password. I forget the username. I forget which server I used to create the little blip. So all my little blogs are lost somewhere out there…where? Poor little blogs. If you find them, please bring them home.

To this shameful lack of dedication and organization, add the deeply ambiguous feelings that I harbor for the internet in general. And computers in general. And anything that requires plugging in and has buttons in general. I like books. They are stable, attractive on the shelf, smell nice, can be kissed and carried, or torn up…or thrown at walls… and do not make strange whirring noises or burst spontaneously into flames like some laptops I have known (this actually happened to me once). Yes, I like books.

And then, specifically—there are blogs. “Blog…is an unlovely word, and an unlovely idea,” someone once told a dear friend of mine when he announced the creation of his blog. And I tend to agree; something of aesthetic grace and graceful humility is lacking in the blog. Why should anyone (specifically ME) presume to start a blog? How narcissistic am I to believe that anyone will read (or should read) what I have to say? Do I have anything to say? We will see.

“But wait!” I say to myself, “I am a writer—or I spurt little word-things sometimes. As a poet I presume (or will presume in future) upon an audience. I will offer my little verse-y things to critical, ignorant, love-starved, love-satiated eyes. And these eyes will (I pray) read with kindness, or at lease interest.” And I realize as I speak in my head to myself about myself (bad, bad habit)—I realize that I am afraid. Afraid of an audience, stagefrightened. Afraid to fail. So this is why I am going to keep writing and sending my little poem things off to magazines in order to build my collection of rejection letters. And this is why I am going to try…to blog. I do this knowing that my audience here will probably consist of my mother, my husband and a few friends. Which is a very good first audience, don’t you think? Surely it is good for the writer to write (write anything), right?

1 comment:

  1. I can't believe I will be the first to comment on your first ever blog post, but I loved it. And can relate to it. except the poet/writer part, but especially the blogging in my head part. Luck to both of us.