A friend of mine, who writes for the South China Morning Post, called last night to pick my brain about blogs. Apparently, he’d decided to do a story, or column, or God knows what, on the subject. “Did you know there are 33 million blogs out there?” he asked me. “How do they know?” I replied, trying to imagine the technocrat charged with the duty of counting blogs, one, two, three….He gave me the source, which I still haven’t looked up.
Tonight he called to tell me that I too could one day be a famous writer thanks to my blog. He’d interviewed a woman who apparently has sold 250,000 copies of a book that was published from her blogging – something about emotions and food – some sort of cookbook. (I’ve really got to look this up now.)
“Why do they do it?” he asked, forgetting that I’ve joined the ranks of the bloggers. “Because we don’t all have columns in newspapers to vent our spleens like you,” I explained. He’d discovered what I’ve learned the past two months that I’ve explored blogs – 99 percent of them are essentially personal diaries written to no one in particular, or perhaps family and friends. Everyone thinks they have an inner writer, and everyone thinks they have something interesting to say. (Not that I’m an exception or anything.) Many start out with entries every day, but seem to drift off to the occasional post a few times a year as the blogger loses interest.
During my career as an editor at an obscure trade magazine (yeah, copy editors among you, I know it’s hard to imagine I edit anything) I’ve had countless queries from people aspiring to be writers. I’ve got to give them at least a brownie point for digging deep enough to find someone like me. But, I always know I’m in trouble when I pick up the phone, or am sitting at a party, and someone introduces themselves and says, “I’ve always wanted to be a writer.” This is usually followed by some story about an essay they wrote in some English class 20 years ago, and gee, wouldn’t I give them their “big break” by giving them an assignment.
I’m always polite, always encouraging, and always try to steer them in the direction of sources for new writers to get clips. After all, someone gave me a break once upon a time. But I’m a bit of a cynic now, and what I really want to tell them is that if they want to be a “writer” i.e. some person who works at home at some nice desk in their “writing space” and carefully constructs words as smooth as butter – well, for most of us it just doesn’t work that way.
Reality is journalism is a business. Writers are the equivalent of assembly line workers in this business, and words are generally the things that keep the ads from slamming together. They don’t have to be great. They don’t have to be good. They don’t have to flow like butter. They just have to be clear and accurate and pretty much on time. If they do flow like butter, or perhaps are even funny, you might get a kudo from another editor who appreciates such things – but don’t count on anything beyond that. Quantity is generally better than quality – provided you don’t screw up so bad so as to get yourself sued.
So, why do people blog? Well, why not? How perfect is this? You can write, edit, spew forth any opinion you wish and you can be a “writer.” Granted, the pay isn’t great, but I’ve got news for you. It never is.
“Why do we do it?” I answered him. Because we’re all egomaniacs. Because dumping onto on of the 33 million blogs of the world is way cheaper than therapy. Because we all want to do something in our lives that leaves a legacy. Because we want to be understood and known by someone or something outside of ourselves.
As for me, I whine about all my little aches and pains, Hermansky-Pudlak Syndrome related or not. I keep thinking that if I do this long enough a fuller picture of what it’s like to live with HPS will emerge. I keep thinking that if I ever get the formula right and actually tell anyone this blog exists, that perhaps they might add to my posts with posts of their own – and maybe someday someone will “get it.” I keep thinking that if I keep making myself do this, despite the fact I’m almost in tears at all the things going undone in my life, I’ll move from whining to actual, meaningful observation. That’s why I blog.
Tonight he called to tell me that I too could one day be a famous writer thanks to my blog. He’d interviewed a woman who apparently has sold 250,000 copies of a book that was published from her blogging – something about emotions and food – some sort of cookbook. (I’ve really got to look this up now.)
“Why do they do it?” he asked, forgetting that I’ve joined the ranks of the bloggers. “Because we don’t all have columns in newspapers to vent our spleens like you,” I explained. He’d discovered what I’ve learned the past two months that I’ve explored blogs – 99 percent of them are essentially personal diaries written to no one in particular, or perhaps family and friends. Everyone thinks they have an inner writer, and everyone thinks they have something interesting to say. (Not that I’m an exception or anything.) Many start out with entries every day, but seem to drift off to the occasional post a few times a year as the blogger loses interest.
During my career as an editor at an obscure trade magazine (yeah, copy editors among you, I know it’s hard to imagine I edit anything) I’ve had countless queries from people aspiring to be writers. I’ve got to give them at least a brownie point for digging deep enough to find someone like me. But, I always know I’m in trouble when I pick up the phone, or am sitting at a party, and someone introduces themselves and says, “I’ve always wanted to be a writer.” This is usually followed by some story about an essay they wrote in some English class 20 years ago, and gee, wouldn’t I give them their “big break” by giving them an assignment.
I’m always polite, always encouraging, and always try to steer them in the direction of sources for new writers to get clips. After all, someone gave me a break once upon a time. But I’m a bit of a cynic now, and what I really want to tell them is that if they want to be a “writer” i.e. some person who works at home at some nice desk in their “writing space” and carefully constructs words as smooth as butter – well, for most of us it just doesn’t work that way.
Reality is journalism is a business. Writers are the equivalent of assembly line workers in this business, and words are generally the things that keep the ads from slamming together. They don’t have to be great. They don’t have to be good. They don’t have to flow like butter. They just have to be clear and accurate and pretty much on time. If they do flow like butter, or perhaps are even funny, you might get a kudo from another editor who appreciates such things – but don’t count on anything beyond that. Quantity is generally better than quality – provided you don’t screw up so bad so as to get yourself sued.
So, why do people blog? Well, why not? How perfect is this? You can write, edit, spew forth any opinion you wish and you can be a “writer.” Granted, the pay isn’t great, but I’ve got news for you. It never is.
“Why do we do it?” I answered him. Because we’re all egomaniacs. Because dumping onto on of the 33 million blogs of the world is way cheaper than therapy. Because we all want to do something in our lives that leaves a legacy. Because we want to be understood and known by someone or something outside of ourselves.
As for me, I whine about all my little aches and pains, Hermansky-Pudlak Syndrome related or not. I keep thinking that if I do this long enough a fuller picture of what it’s like to live with HPS will emerge. I keep thinking that if I ever get the formula right and actually tell anyone this blog exists, that perhaps they might add to my posts with posts of their own – and maybe someday someone will “get it.” I keep thinking that if I keep making myself do this, despite the fact I’m almost in tears at all the things going undone in my life, I’ll move from whining to actual, meaningful observation. That’s why I blog.
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