This was too much to post as a comment over on Nameless Creek as a followup to a recent "allegory about blogging", and perhaps a topic with which other bloggers might identify. Thanks Gary, Andy and others for your thoughts as I grapple with the purpose and end of blogging. Here I attempt to give voice to my vacillations pro and con about writing every day to this one-in-a-billion journal.
I feel such a strong ambivalence, not wanting merely to add to the noise of an increasingly bloated world of ego and opinion while having a self and point of view that wants to see the light of day.
I feel increasingly irrelevant in a world where more and more people are better qualified to discuss anything I would think to post. At some point, saving your own words is like saving barbershop floor clippings after a haircut. Yes, it's yours. But of what value is it?
I find, for good or ill, that blogging satisfies too many of my creative urges--to the extent that I don't have enough motivation to spill those energies over into anything concrete: a book, a magazine article, a for-real professional-quality gallery of images, a radio essay. Maybe that's okay. Sometimes I think so. Lately, not so much.
I don't want the blog to become a mere broadcast, and yet it feels far more monologue-ish and pushed compared to the multi-way, collaborative "front porch" it did at one time. There's still a point to using the blog as a simple repository for future reference or posterity (of uncertain value for either). But again, it seems a sad one-man band keeping time when nobody's dancing.
For the first three years of Fragments, I would have told you that there was at least one, usually more, reinforcing connections made through the blog every week--a new reader who was also a writer or editor; someone with connections in SWVA who felt reunited to place through the images on FFF; a "place blogger" who quickly became a kindred spirit and friend; a journalist, producer, photographer, writer, etc who was interested in or coming to Floyd and wanted to establish a relationship. Lately, not so much. None, actually.
For some of these deficiencies, I give myself credit. The teaching at Radford, the return to the PT clinic, the writing of the book, the marketing and promotion of the book, the Floyd Press regular column, the various other projects--all this has diminished my energies and focus for blogging. And rss readers put distance between me and the blogs I read in that way, and between those who read mine by newsfeed. There is a level of anonymity that didn't use to be there.
And some of the loss I feel is simply the nature of the beast, the nature of something become routine that once was innovative, cutting-edge and unknown. Heck, folks: five years of doing anything every day is a long time!
Above all, I don't want to become a blog that blogs about blogging.
Well, there you have it. I am my own worst enemy. And I apologize for this public navel gazing, and do so just to let you know I'm still home, still listening for the next traveler to pass down our slow road, still excited about this world-connection we have at our fingertips, and still just as confused as the rest of you about what all this means and where it is leading us.
What odd times we live in! -- Fred
Labels: blogging, Reflections