Tuesday, January 23, 2007

New Year and More

From what I've observed about blogs, writers seem spew like the world is or would be interested in the most mundane bits and pieces of their lives. Like what they had for dinner or what friends they phoned after their doctor appointments or what movie they went to, alone, last Saturday afternoon when they just couldn't take another Grey's Anatomy Season 2 DVD set marathon. Oy yoi yoi.

Of course, we all cannot be politicos nailing the administration for gross negligance or crimes against humanity. I mean, we can rant and provide persuasive arguments complete with facts and examples, but do we have the credibility? At this point, I'm not sure who has the credibility or what the baseline of credibility is in this country. Every day I read "HuffingtonPost." And the Huff prints articles from many, many blogs. Who the heck are these people? Some are political writers from established news organizations or writers of great and small repute, such as Krugman, Kristoff, and Dowd. Some are working members of the House and Senate, such as Kerry, Biden, and Murtha. Some are from the entertainment crowd, such as Nora Ephron, who is quite funny and often astute. Lately Elaine Boosler's work has been listed twice, and as much as I loved her as a comedienne, I was less-than-wowed by her writing. Something about her work did not translate into print, more's the pity. Other entertainment folk who tend to write well include Alec Baldwin and Sean Penn. I always enjoyed both of them in acting moments, and have gained more esteem for them through their blunt talk and well-crafted sentences.

I'm a trained writer -- a teacher of writers. I often wonder if I crafted an engaging political blog about life in the country or how a city girl moves to Vermont and redeems her soul -- would that be credible? Do I have something to add to the general NOISE in the blogosphere?

I do know that I cannot continue to write about my days as if I'm keeping a diary. No, I cannot do that type of blogging. I cannot take myself that seriously. Nor do I want to continue to spew here about my struggles as a writer. What crap is that? How dare I whine about "how tough it is to crank out 500-1000-more words? Men and women are lying in hospitals without limbs. I cannot be that self-absorbed. How could I dare to be? No, I just can't. And I cringe when I read some of the blogs written by aspiring writers who obviously cannot write. I can write, and I don't want to act like I'm on some mission. I'm not. I love to write and that's all.

The year-dometer turned over from 2006 to 2007 while I was in my jammies hanging out or somewhat entranced with Winter Affective Disorder. No matter. I'm up and about now. New haircut, no doctor's appointments, and I'll be damned if I'm letting you know what the heck I ate for lunch or dinner. Never again.

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