Over a cup of Caribou coffee at Denver International Airport this past weekend, I was pitching to Tegan an idea to write about for this blog. I was in the middle of brainstorming when she politely interrupted me to ask, “What do you think is the point of writing?” Admittedly, my immediate reaction was one of defense, as if she was insinuating that my idea was not worth writing about and questioning my ability to write at all. In hindsight that reaction was a little extreme, because, for a writer, she was asking a very pertinent question: Why write? Or, more specifically, why blog?
Now, I’m relatively new to the blogging community. Not just because this is only my fourth post, but also because I simply haven’t spent much time searching out and reading many blogs. When reading on the internet, I primarily stick to the NYTimes, WSJ, ESPN, the Economist and Bloomberg. I sometimes venture to the Huffington Post for more entertainment purposes. While one could argue that the opinionated columnists within these news sources write similarly to a blogger, their words are usually also published in print and subject to slightly more scrutiny. So it’s not exactly the same.
None of this is to say that I don’t find merit or value in blogging itself. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I adamantly read Roger Ebert’s blog, which beautifully ponders anything that flashes across his intellectual curiosity. I’ve read most, if not all, of his posts and find truth within each and every one of them. I thoroughly enjoy the blog Things White People Like, which lampoons the pompous pursuits of hipster yuppies. A good friend of mine from Wisconsin has made it his life’s passion to photograph and write about all types of foods at taylortakesataste.com. Tegan’s sister Amanda wrote a blog while she was working in France for 10 months so friends and family could check-in with her experiences. Just these four examples show how blogging can have a very wide range of focus, use, and audience.
My undefined hesitation in entering the blogging universe came to life in The Social Network. About mid-way through the movie, Mark Zuckerberg is confronting his ex-girlfriend Erica Albright while she’s getting drinks with her friends. In reference to his vicious posting about her on the internet she quips, “As if every thought that tumbles through your head was so clever it would be a crime for it not to be shared.” There is an arrogant presumption inherent to blogging that anyone, let alone an entire audience, really cares about what you’re writing. Prior to the internet, the fact that an author would have to be endorsed by an accredited publisher weeded out all the writing better suited for a personal, handwritten journal. Nowadays, emboldened by the anonymity and unlimited reach of the internet, there are countless “writers” out there putting words together that are less than worthy of my, or anyone else’s, time
So, blogging is both extremely valuable and utterly worthless. Much in the same spirit of its intended purpose, nothing boils this conundrum down better than Twitter. On the one hand, the application’s immediate and shared communication helps communities cope and respond to natural disasters; assists revolutionaries in gathering and shaping their government; and spreads news of the world’s events at the most personal level. On the other hand, Twitter feeds the narcissism of its commonplace and celebrity users who feel the need to disseminate the intricate minutiae of their daily activities, turning the website itself into comedians’ fodder. Anyone who has seen Conan’s YouTwitFace bit knows what I’m talking about.
What it comes down to is that blogging is a tool. A lot like a hammer. And I’m not going to go so far as saying it can be used to create and destroy, because I’m not contrasting to hateful writing intended to hurt. A properly used hammer can be used to build a beautiful and useful home. However, if the carpenter loses his focus and that hammerhead misses its target, he’s going to have a bloody, bruised, and/or broken thumb. Same goes for blogging. If you stray from your focus, you’re only going to end up hurting yourself and no one is going to want to look at the result.
So, why blog? What should I use this tool for and how should I go about it? My answers to Tegan’s questions center on honest introspection in the pursuit of universal truth. That’s a little lofty, but let me explain. I believe that all of us are connected in our hope that we’re not alone. If, through open and honest discussion, I can strip my experiences down to their elemental particles, then I might be able to strike a chord with an audience. The specifics will be mine and the mode will vary from post to post, but the underlying meaning will be communal.
To give an example, I am currently reading The Blind Side by Michael Lewis (one of my favorite authors). During my flight this past weekend, I got to the part when the Christian southerner Leigh Ann Tuohy is first interacting with her future adopted son and NFL star Michael Oher. She is taking him to his very poor and dangerous neighborhood to buy him some new clothes. Before getting out of the car, she turns to him and asks, “You’ll protect me right?” After barely uttering a full sentence the entire car ride, he confidently responds, “I got your back.” Now this story is about these two very specific people, who were strangers at the time. But I know what it’s like to feel protected by someone else, or to feel the desire to protect another human being. And Michael Lewis knew that the idea of protection and, more specifically, family is universally understood. All these things came together in my subconscious to make my hair stand on end and feel a rush of human connection.
But Tegan took my answer one step further. Good writing, and therefore good blogging, has to extend beyond a sense of inherent truth. I can’t just write about things that people already know or feel. I have to do it in a way that retains interest. Using my previous example, I was affected by Leigh Ann’s and Michael’s story because of the way it happened, but also because of the way Michael Lewis wrote about it. Nothing demonstrates this balancing act better than a successful comedian. A good comic is “saying what we’re all thinking.” But, mostly because of stand-up comedy’s on-the-fly delivery, most people fail to recognize that each joke was methodically rehearsed at countless comedy clubs. Every pause, inflection, or emphasis is there for a reason: to keep you listening and laughing.
So that’s the why: to use my personal experiences to find common ground. That exploration will be for your benefit and for mine. The challenge is to keep it interesting.
Wish me luck.
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