Why I’m a Writer, Not a “Blogger”

So I finally finished reading Andrew Sullivan’s piece on “Why I Blog” (available here, as a four page blog post).  He hits the nail on the head on why I’m not a blogger with this paragraph (and a half).

If all this sounds postmodern, that’s because it is. And blogging suffers from the same flaws as postmodernism: a failure to provide stable truth or a permanent perspective. A traditional writer is valued by readers precisely because they trust him to have thought long and hard about a subject, given it time to evolve in his head, and composed a piece of writing that is worth their time to read at length and to ponder. Bloggers don’t do this and cannot do this—and that limits them far more than it does traditional long-form writing.

A blogger will air a variety of thoughts or facts on any subject in no particular order other than that dictated by the passing of time. A writer will instead use time, synthesizing these thoughts, ordering them, weighing which points count more than others, seeing how his views evolved in the writing process itself, and responding to an editor’s perusal of a draft or two. The result is almost always more measured, more satisfying, and more enduring than a blizzard of posts.

So yea…I’m not really a “blogger”.  I’m just an idiot who writes for free.  My bad.

I should have stuck with the inane bullshit approach.  “Superficial bullshit” as some close friends would call it.

Oh well…someday people will realize I’m a writer, and a pretty solid one, at that.  A, as the gay guy said, “traditional writer [who] is valued by readers precisely because they trust him to have thought long and hard about a subject, given it time to evolve in his head, and composed a piece of writing that is worth their time to read at length and to ponder.”

Yea, that’s how I blog…for the most part.  I do the inane shit too, sometimes, but really when it’s time for me to write, I freakin’ write.

Now….if only I can figure out this business model thing…capitalism is a right bastard sometimes.  😉

[on a sidenote…”blogging” is a strange term that came of age before it became of age.  That, in essense, is what “postmodernism” is…stuff that people know before they know it.  Yea…I just gave you a real, hard, short definition of ‘postermodernism’.  Hey, it’s what I do.  🙂 ]

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More Stuff I Won’t Get to Write About, at length (dang editing)

Computer power and intelligence. I actually did a video bit about this one the other night.  Hopefully I’ll get it edited soon.  Simple fact: We DO NOT WANT TO CREATE AN AI!   Really, it would not be a good thing.

What invasive species are trying to tell us.

Shaq isn’t human, he’s dancer. (Thanks, Case!)

Watching Republicans Grieve. O.k. I am actually going to write about this one.

The War in Afghanistan gets personal.

Repeat: Plasma bullets create Northern Lights. Had to look this one up again for the book (dang editing).

Why I Blog…

You end up writing about yourself, since you are a relatively fixed point in this constant interaction with the ideas and facts of the exterior world. And in this sense, the historic form closest to blogs is the diary. But with this difference: a diary is almost always a private matter. Its raw honesty, its dedication to marking life as it happens and remembering life as it was, makes it a terrestrial log. A few diaries are meant to be read by others, of course, just as correspondence could be—but usually posthumously, or as a way to compile facts for a more considered autobiographical rendering. But a blog, unlike a diary, is instantly public. It transforms this most personal and retrospective of forms into a painfully public and immediate one. It combines the confessional genre with the log form and exposes the author in a manner no author has ever been exposed before.

Indeed, and I turned a blog for a month into a book…as an experiment in New Media.  We’ll see how it turns out…I’m very curious to see if it works.