It's there. It's been written. It's scheduled to be published -- three hours ago. But it sits, refuses to publish, and refuses to allow me to even edit. So why do I try, again?I still find the term, "blog" ugly on the ear, though familiarity has taken some of the offence from it. I still find the majority of blogs I visit a waste of my time, with just enough little gems among them that I'll occasionally do a bit of sifting again. I still find the process of writing something -- just because I'm scheduled to write -- often feels artificial. Am I saying anything that's worth people's time to read? Perhaps most frustrating of all, no matter how much time I spend preparing an article, formatting it so that it reads clearly and looks attractive and professional on the page, the blog page does its own thing and all my formatting efforts are just spinning my wheels, going nowhere.
Writing -- the wonder, the thrill of creating with words. Why do so many of us take that wonder, and twist and torture it into places that robs it of its joy? I sit at my computer this morning with many tasks waiting, having sat here till well past midnight last night. All last night's work sits in a draft file, refusing to cooperate. Gaps in the scheduled posts suggest strongly that others have struggled and failed to get their writing on-line. So I can't count on this publishing when I finally quit my rant and hit the "PUBLISH POST" button on the bottom left of my screen. But I'm a writer, and I'm supposed to have something up there. I'm a writer who loves language, loves the wonder of words. I'm a poet, and just days ago was handed an 1838 volume, rich and delightful. Little tidbits, fragments of verses, emotions deeper than words still resonate from dipping into that volume. I'm a writer, and whether with pen and paper, or in this love-hate relationship with computer technology, I create with words. Some of those creations hold little value. I try to not foist them on unlucky readers. But every once in a while, the magic happens. Because of that, I'll keep coming back to this place. If you will come with me, I'll dare to believe there will be a few gems to be found.
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1 comment:
Brian, even when you think or feel you have little to say, you still do!
As I read this piece I felt as though you were expressing a catharsis -- for me as well as youself!
I struggle with the technology (including recently with posting to this same blog and the tricks it plays with formatting).
Even if you call this post a rant, it's eloquently put.
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