The art or talent or craft of blogging—I don’t know which word to apply here, for all my blogalectics—veneers itself with a sort of deception. “I am busy,” it seems to say. “I am profound and important. I am your jolly everything, mate. Perfect me.”
There’s of course style of truth to this, and it behoves a writer to write well on a blog as on anywhere else. But this style of truth tends to shout down any other style of truth lurking around, such as “Life happens” and “Your blog post is not your epic” and “They’ll forgive you if you take another day.” And what shouts loudest is the wonderful voice crying “Time! Time! Let your blog eat your Time!”
For a writer, time is money, yes. But more truly, time is craft (for which, see Friday) and time is words. The more words we write the longer it takes. That’s just logic.
As a writer and a blogger, I can’t help but admire those writers who are not only extremely busy, but dedicated to their blogs, who write concisely and well. So I read and admired John McIntryre’s You Don’t Say, and Maria Nikolajeva’s Confessions of a Displaced Hedgehog. They are erudite, engaging, and informed (now let’s play Spot the Alliteration!). These are not the only blogs to inhabit my RSS reader—far from it—but they are the blogs that at some constant, hopeful level, Paradoxes wants to be when it grows up.
I direct you to those links today to find for yourselves a profundity which this post lacks.