You might have noticed—and you didn’t, because no one reads this blog—but I had a crisis of the blogging spirit and went AWOL for the last few weeks. I had a pseudo-destructive impulse and took my blog offline (To be fair, if it were a truly destructive impulse, I would have completely deleted the blog). It was the result of an ongoing case of Blogger’s Block, and of the disturbing fact that after writing and posting three shitty blog entries, I still derive absolutely no pleasure or inspiration from writing for every Googler and WordPress-er to see. And, this fact is in turn derived from my tendency to constantly remember the reasons why I make a Really Shitty Blogger, whenever I consider writing a blog entry. The reasons are qualities about me and particularly my writing style that affront every sacramental principle of the present-day blogosphere. In particular,
I write run-on sentences, and I’m unapologetic about it. I’m truly exhilarated by wandering, convoluted thoughts that seem to lead nowhere. Anything less than three clauses is dull and depressing, and just not worth it to me. I don’t care if you can’t understand what I’m trying to say in my writing; I refuse to give up semicolons and unnecessary modifiers.
In the same vein,
I’m wordy. In today’s ADD-driven and Twitter-infested reader -and writer-ship of the digital age, even 500 words is considered to be grossly superfluous and a little self-important. But for me, 500 words are just not enough to work with. It’s hopeless. I’m just another one of Marvin Harris’s loathed “untrained would-be novelists and ego-tripping narcissists afflicted with congenital logo-diarrhea” (I’d add a citation but I don’t want to make this look too academic).
Blogs posts are typically chunky. That’s just not my style. Most people write for blogs the way I’m writing this post, only more concisely. They split the text up into little chunks in the style of short, bulleted points. But my thoughts, and my sentences, aren’t very chunky. They’re more like an oozing, swirling Gestalt nightmare. I have trouble delineating where one thought or sentence ends and another begins. (That’s why I’ve never been great at using transition sentences, as is evident.) Forcing myself to arbitrarily break my thoughts up into chunks of bulleted points is emotionally draining and is sucking all of the inspiration out of me, as I write.
I attribute my current writing dilemmas of all things verbose to my lifetime of training in the use of “thick description,” compulsive footnoting, and of reading incessant admonishments to “Flesh it Out–More Detail,” next to a “C” on the last page of a 20-page description of a single site visit. Well, actually, I’m just looking for excuses. I have always been a verbose writer.
My content is not appealing to the average reader. Everyone says that blogs are supposed to show off your vast, specialized knowledge on some topic or life skill, like photography or cooking or hot yoga or something. You’re supposed to write entries where you share your no-one-else-knows-this insight and give people advice on how to become more self-actualized by using a pinhole camera or cooking clams in wine sauce or stretching the bajeezus out of yourself.
But I don’t have any specialized knowledge that I could translate into useful life skills advice. What am I supposed to do, dispense my authoritative knowledge about the intellectual history of the neo-Darwinian synthesis or the cultural materialism vs interpretivism debate? No one wants to know about the daily, mundane misery and endless ennui of an underemployed bulimarexic recluse who does absolutely NOTHING except for sit in her room and talk to her roommate’s cats all day. (No, you really don’t want to know.) And, what’s worse, if I were to write what I have a natural affinity for writing—the disgustingly and candidly morose shit that I write in my journal—I would most likely be banned from WordPress altogether and removed from Google’s search index.
And finally . . .
Most people decorate their blogs with eye candy—and I don’t, and I don’t want to. You’re supposed to add lots of pictures that you’ve ripped off the internet to your blog and also give your blog a really pretty, schnazzy design with the implicit understanding that cute blogs are taken more seriously by blog readers. I, however, have absolutely no patience or aesthetic flare for that sort of fluff. To me it looks obvious when someone has slapped some impersonal image on their blog that is remotely related to the topic of their post, and I feel like I have better things to do than devote my time to cheap blog decorating. Like sit in my room and talk to my roommate’s cats. . .
See? I went and ripped a random image that is marginally related to my blog post off the web so I could provide eye candy. . . Though, I can’t figure out how to center the image or how to include this text as a caption instead of as part of the body of the post.
Mostly because I want to force myself to become comfortable writing outside of my journal, I decided to come out of hibernation and re-open, so to speak, my blog of a few shitty posts. I figure that if no one is reading this blog except for me, then it doesn’t matter that my posts are pathetically shitty anyway. It’s likely that I’ll periodically have more fits of blogger’s block, and the accompanying fits of destruction, and take my blog offline for a few weeks—or months, or forever—all over again . . and again, and again.