Blogging is Writing
Blogging is writing. Someone told me that. Still there is something I find nauseatingly banal about blogging; it strikes me as not writing, but distilling into form a diatribe best left unwritten, unspoken, unsung. I write every day (or so I tell people), and I genuinely do try every day, but there are days when the prose will not come, when it is swallowed up by life, by work demands, social demands, when I cannot concentrate as the television is on too loudly next door and the sound of it cuts into my thought. I also go on long walks, passing the miles, five into ten into fifteen, and when I return sometimes I am simply too tired to write. Sometimes I just have to finish that novel I am reading. It is in these interstices I am told I should blog. ‘It’s still writing’, but the tone of their wording, the implication of that sentence is that blogging is writing without intelligence. I cannot write without intelligence. I do not think anybody should write without intelligence. ...