Friday, February 27, 2015

Why Blog?

At the end of our last writing group meeting, the Scribblerati all fessed up that we haven’t been that great about keeping up with our monthly blogging assignments.  We once again got into the territory of “what’s the purpose of blogging” and “why blog?”

I’m not sure we came up with a definitive answer, but here’s a response from me on why I blog—I wrote it a while ago, but it still holds true for me today.

Why I Blog
By Mark Teats

I blog because I have no choice. Blogging is addictive like alcohol, crack, or nacho cheese Doritos.
I blog because it’s the right thing to do.
I blog because good blogs don’t write themselves.
Bad ones don’t either.
I blog because once as a child I ran headlong into a sharp-cornered wall at full speed, knocking myself unconscious. If I touch just above my forehead, under my hairline I can feel the cleft in my skull where my brain tried to leak out, where it was permanently damaged, and more particularly, the region of the brain that decides if you blog or not. Brain damaged? You’re probably a blogger.
I blog because George Takei has not posted anything fun for me to repost in the past hour. Don’t worry, my other geek friends who also follow Takei will share, post and repost many times as soon as George has found another jewel. We’ll all know. Ohhhh Myyyyyy.
Because all the really good material in my head is gone and only the garbage thoughts remain. Blogging is kind of like taking out the trash. You get rid of that junk idea and make room for the new, shiny, good stuff.
Because the crap in my head is more interesting than the crap in your head. (Scott Adams said something like this, once. It’s true, right?)
Because I agreed to do this once per month for my writing group.
Because blogging is what you do when you can’t get on with the real writing.
When blogs are outlawed, only outlaws will have blogs.
Blogs don’t kill people—oh wait, yeah, they kinda do. Only on the inside. The “little death,” I think the French call it.
I blog because everyone in the world wants to know what I think.
I blog because NO one in the world wants to know what I think.
I blog because of the 356 blogs I follow and seldom read. Sorry my brothers/sisters in blogging arms. I’ve failed you.
I blog because once as a four-year-old child I got on my trike and rode, the wind in my sun bleached hair, and I almost got away, free from my parents, from The MAN, made it a whole mile, close to the river that could easily have drowned me, before a kindly old man, a stranger spoke to me, and said, “Young man. You’re a long way from home. Shouldn’t you be somewhere blogging?” He was right. I turned that tricycle around, put on my shades and pedaled for all I was worth. It was another 25 years before I saw the Internet. But I was ready. Good blogging starts young. It starts at home. It knows the fury of a runaway child on a red tricycle; it knows the kindness of a blog-loving strange old future-man who smells like ass and day old donuts.
I blog because blogs don’t write themselves. If they did, I’m guessing they would blather on about something no one cares about. They’d post themselves frequently, and never be read. By anyone. EVER.
I blog because the technology is there. Computers are like genitalia. You were given this equipment for a reason. Use it. Flail it around. Get the feel for it. Yes, yes, yes, that’s it! Hit post. Hope you used protection.
I blog because every time I blog a buxom, bat-winged, red-skinned succubus in skintight black nylon and high, high heels, gets a new cat o’ nine tails. Ouch! Or so I like to imagine. Do I smell sulfur and brimstone? No?
I blog because it’s the “In” thing to do. Everyone is doing it. Do you have a blog? Why not? Come on! Don’t be a chump! Blog early, blog long, blog frequently, outright rant, go on and on and on. Don’t hold back. Still no blog? You are so sad. You make puppies and angels cry.
Don’t be confused. It’s time to blog. It’s always time to blog. Now. Blog. Come on! Do it, do it!
I blog because I am immune to peer pressure.
I blog because of that one time I drank too much, and almost died. I had a vision; I was a disembodied soul, floating in the void. Everywhere there was blackness, darkness, nothingness. I was reduced to spirit, pure energy, as I whimpered, “I want to live” and a voice—was it God?—spoke unto me, cut through the darkness, all powerful, all knowing, said unto me, in a voice not unlike Morgan Freeman, or Jim Caviezel, or some other actor whose name escapes me who once played God or Jesus in that bad movie once, He said, “Blog. It’s the only way to go. Now get back there and stop wasting my time.” I’ve sworn off Jager Bombs ever since. But I still blog.
I blog because everyone wants to know about my favorite episode of “Kolchak the Nightstalker” (it’s the one with the invisible space monster, or maybe the one with the boogie man) or about when they should stop reading the original “Saga of Swamp Thing” comic books (about episode 21 is a safe place to stop, they got kinda stinky and or eco-preachy after that), or what my favorite Stephen King book is (The Stand, or course).
I blog because it’s a word count race to the death and only the swiftest of bloggers will make it to the finish line. Blog eat blog, as it were.
Blogging, the gift that keeps on giving, the curse that has no end.
31 million of us bloggers can’t be wrong. That’s in the USA only. Bloggers in other countries are not counted. They do NOT matter. In exotic countries like Uruguay, Macedonia, and Columbus, Ohio if you blog and the government finds out, you’ll never be heard of again.
I blog because I could not stop for Death, and he has not yet kindly stopped for me—so in the meantime I have plenty of blogging time to kill.
I blog because I’ve always wanted to disappoint my parents and had neither the courage nor talent to go into acting nor the ability to become a poet laureate.
I blog for love.
I blog for life.
I blog for the pursuit of a really good French dip with fries, and maybe a Coke.
I blog for you. I’ve always done this for you. A perfect, selfless act. I was never there when you needed me, but you let me go, and I came back, like that butterfly in that saying, and here I am, just a boy, with an eight pound head, standing in a doorway, the black gaping void doorway to the infinity of information and porn that is the Internet, putting it all out there, giving it everything I’ve got for you. To live the dream, to write the unthinkable, the unpublishable, the unfathomable, to write about that which will never be seen nor spoken of nor cared for again.
To blog.
That, that’s not quite true.
None of this was for you. I’m lying.
Nor was it for our blog’s one reader or 37 followers.
I blog for myself.
Only for me.

professional blogger to the stars

PS> OK you bastards. It’s your turn to blog. Get to it.