The process of work seemed rather curious. It was a great big library in a great big school in a great big country where escalators went up and down a very spacious, gigantic room with a ceiling at least three floors high.
It was called, predictably, the library.
Therefore, most people seemed to be there for the wireless internet.
Some seemed to be waiting there for their next classes looking over printed course packs they’d obtained from a copy store nearby.
Some were concentrated on updating their locations on Facebook.
In my wanderings through various cities and university towns, I encountered a strange creature called the writer (and its close cousin, the critic). I was told that it is an endangered species. The world does not need it much any more having advanced to higher levels of the human condition thanks to the blessings of technological advancement.
Now that the governments of the world are only nurturing STEM’s– Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics–to pave the way to the future, no one quite knows what to do with these writers–these fruits of civilization.
I’m writing this blog as I’m sitting at a café. Cafés have character and this has one.
This isn’t a big name-brand café but a very successful one. It’s in SoHo right in the heart of Manhattan’s artists’ studios and big fashion stores. The café is fairly full of artists and fashionistas while a new breed of finance professionals whose offices have moved here are drinking coffee here too. In fact, the latter comprise the majority. Continue reading Cafes and the city→
Today, my blog will be about my experience of writing this blog. Not just about the writing of it but about my relationship with it–how I got obsessed with it, how I kept checking it, how a yellow little notification button bringing likes and comments made my heart skip a beat every time, how I began to see the world through a list of little flags with numbers against them showing readers near and far. It will be about love, about envy, about obsession and finally, about my attempt to get a hold over it.
It will be about the experience of creating something and setting it out into the world and seeing it grow, about the process of democratic writing, about seeing how good writing exposed to the world can rise through unknown readers and how bad writing is punished by a dead spread on a static page with no movement in something as cold and tangible as site graphs and statistics.
It’s also about growth, about compromise, about settling for what the world wants you to be, about taming yourself, about paring your rough edges, sometimes painfully, to become part of a larger community.
In short, the experience of blogging as a microcosm of social life.
In writing Excerpt:
We really appreciated your piece. We think it has great potential. We hope you find a better fit. Excerpt with notes:
We really appreciated your piece. [Writer of the piece is a boilerplate template hiding behind the royal we. No, it probably doesn’t have the eye to appreciate a cold piece of salmon, leave alone a piece of prose.]We think it has great potential [as fuel in a camp fire]. We hope you find a better fit [We are too good for you]. What to think:
“Seriously, you should listen to me,” says me. “I am the most brilliant person I know.”
I know that my ideas must be good.
I should know. I listen to myself all day.
I make sure I catch ’em ideas before they escape. ‘Em ideas arise from one end of the brain and I catch ’em before they reach the other. I’ve become quite sly. I bait ’em ideas with a few things–taking a walk, observing people, just talking to myself.
Get them crystallized before they diffuse. That’s the trick. They’re volatile, they are.
You are in love with this girl that you’ve been tracking for a while on Facebook. You may or may not have met her in person. You know what she likes, what she dislikes (or at least what she thinks she likes or dislikes), where she’s from, who her best friends are who regularly talk to her, where she went for a hike this weekend, even where she is right now, at this very moment.
You know her like you’ve never known anyone before. Like from the inside of her head. You know her far better than your roommate that you eat and watch TV with everyday.
You know how her thoughts waver, how she is indecisive, how she sometimes posts a link and deletes it immediately, how she changes the wording on her status updates because she is rather shy and doesn’t want to appear too bold with sensational things.
There’s a dreamy quality about her that you like for she often makes the backgrounds of her pictures fuzzy keeping the focus only on herself and her friends who are always smiling, frozen in time. Continue reading Facebook, love, and fiction→
If household objects were people and they could be psychoanalysed, which object would occupy the prime position as the most attention seeking, the least self-effacing, the loudest, the most narcissistic, the most colourful and preening member of the inanimate world? Continue reading Unusual ways we’re using the TV→
What does it mean to lag behind, to loiter, to delay, to be undecided, to lack a goal? To fail, to fall, to get lost, to wander? To not be perfect, to not match exactly, to not fit a plan, to not fulfil the scheme, to not be of value, in short, to not be successful? Continue reading Ode to failure→
The Ex archives and the archiving process–the meaning of storing, filing, classifying and communicating about exes and the final, ceremonial, cathartic exorcism. That could be a good subject of contemplation today.
I am rather new to this genre called the blog but in the past few days I’ve been able to figure out a few stylistic conventions of blogging, which, no doubt, have some roots in necessity. If anyone knows more, I’d be very interested to know what you figured out through experience.
It’s a beautiful day and I’ve been at my window watching dogs pass by with their owners. Now, I live in a place where there is very little dirt and the concrete, on sunny days, it glows like a clean white plate right out of the dishwasher. Not a crack, not a speck of yesterday’s dirt. The water of the river is blue and the ships, they look perfectly painted.
Okay. So I decided to write something little, something small whenever I feel like it. Isn’t that really what writing is all about? I mean, writing doesn’t really move mountains, or solve the economic crisis. You may try to hit someone hard with words, but a baseball bat is better. A few years ago, I saw a big cow eat an entire book. Didn’t make the creature any wiser. She was still standing, tied to a pole, the last I remember.
So then, why do I bother to write these blogs? But more intriguing a question than that, why do some people read other people’s blogs? I mean don’t students just hate assigned readings and teachers hate grading essays? How many students will have their grandmothers die multiple deaths rather than admit they just didn’t do it or teachers invent departmental meetings to avoid contact with the written word in the form of student papers?
So why would you read the ramblings of someone you don’t even know leave alone stand to gain something from? Continue reading Why blog?→