How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blog

I am not a “blogger.” I know, that’s ironic coming from a blog post, but it’s true. I don’t sit around coffee shops sipping a double whatever latte and sending pictures of my food to Instagram. I’m not part of the Internet couture du jour, assuming I didn’t just mangle the French language. I first got onto Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr earlier this year, and then only to follow a YouTube poster whose content I liked enough to become a veritable cyber stalker.

Not only am I less than a social butterfly on the Internet, I’m also not too involved in other communication forms. If people aren’t incessantly texting, tweeting, calling, or poking me, I’m a happy camper. Please don’t take that as a rejection; I enjoy the likes and any comments that might come my way. But in this crazy world of non-stop communication, I really have lagged behind. I’m not lamenting that fact, just stating it. I’m the rotary phone of the Digital Age, and I love it.

I like technology. I have an iPod, iPad, cell phone, PC, laptop, XBox 360, Wii, High-def television, Blu-ray player, and I like to use all of them. I have been involved in video gaming and computer programming for most of my life. I know my way around computers. I just don’t tend to like sharing myself with the Internet masses. In general I’m a loner, comfortably nestled behind my digital anonymity.

Facebook I use only to hook up with old friends from the town I used to live in. Twitter is next to worthless for me, just a way to follow high-profile personalities and other YouTubers that I like to watch. Tumblr – well, before I followed this particular YouTube personality, I wouldn’t have been able to tell a Tumblr from a tuba. I definitely had no interest in sharing anything in a blog.

A blog tends to be like journal writing to me. I’ve tried it. Sit down each night when you’d rather be going to bed and write your feelings about what has gone on each day. No thank you. I live what I consider to be an altogether boring life. I work, play video games, and sleep. I’ve never thought of my life or my experiences as anything to share with the world in essay form. Why, I’ve never been to war, never had a good solid romantic relationship, never even broken a limb. What on Earth could I possibly contribute to the Internet besides pictures of cats and fart jokes?

The writing I like to do is fiction writing – primarily fantasy and science fiction. I’ve loved that from a very young age, but never quite managed to finish a project and get it published. I do have a short story out right now, but in all my years of writing that’s the only thing even close to being published. For a while now I have been feeling like my well has run dry. I have been writing and reading less than I used to.

You see, when I was young I was bursting with ideas and enthusiasm. I wrote an entire draft of a novel in the summer between junior high school and high school. It was mostly rubbish, but that’s neither here nor there. I ate, drank, and slept fiction writing. It was my passion. The ideas couldn’t be contained in my head; they had to spring out.

As time passed, that enthusiasm died out. I still had just as many ideas popping into my head, but I lacked the wherewithal to carry them through the writing process. I worked a full time job and didn’t want to work another unpaid full time job when I came home. Writing, as I learned over the years, was a lonely and difficult process. Writer’s block is one of the most debilitating conditions I know. The sacrifices I had to make to write had become too unbearable for me.

I remember a phone call I got not long ago from my sister. She has always been interested in my progression as a writer. She came to the conclusion that I was losing that fire that had once fueled my writing passion. Frighteningly, I wasn’t able to tell her, “Don’t be ridiculous!” I was worried that she might be right. Writing has been so tied up in who I am that losing my passion for it seemed like it would mean a loss of my very identity.

So we come to Tumblr. I signed up, mainly to comment on and like the posts of this YouTube contributor that I was following. Just to avoid being a complete leech I published a couple of token pieces and reblogged some humorous items I saw. But I had no intention of becoming a regular blogger. Then she wrote an article where she encouraged commentary. Due to the vagaries and limitations of the comment system on Tumblr, I wrote a long response and posted it on my blog. I loved it.

Ever since then I have been seething with thoughts that demand to be put down on the page. Essays? Not my thing, yet I have written quite a few already. Poetry? Perish the thought, but even that has popped into my head of late. The fire is rising again, I think. I hope. Putting down these random musings has set the creative machine in motion again.

It’s amazing what blogging has done. I have no doubt the constant blogging about anything and everything will die down before too long. There’s only so much a boring fellow like myself can drone on and on about before becoming repetitive and annoying, if that hasn’t happened already. But there’s a lot of energy to tap into, and I’m determined to make this a springboard into serious and furious feats of writing. I have a nice blog space, a new muse, and ideas crackling from my fingertips. Wish me luck. I’m going in.

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3 thoughts on “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blog

  1. mlfables says:

    I have a nice blog space, a new muse, and ideas crackling from my fingertips. Wish me luck. I’m going in.

    Good Luck with your newly found writing muse! 🙂

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