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.
No.
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.
No.
I
blog for myself.
Only
for me.
~Mark
@ManOwords
professional blogger to
the stars
PS> OK you bastards.
It’s your turn to blog. Get to it.
