Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Wordless Wednesday - When There Are So Many Words

One morning this Spring on Facebook - the proclamation "Blogging is Dead"

And I look back on a year of  blog posts. Hundreds of blog posts.

One year.  Such much happens in a year

One new grave, surrounded by flags.  One wooden box, bearing in cold air a warmth that can't be replaced.

On each are short simple words that do not begin to carry the weight or the sharpness of their past.

But as a new author, everyone said "you need to do all of the social media"
I did my first twitter.  It had all the literary  grace of Rodan. #Ineedmoreroomforwords

I started Facebook.  It's like the school yard with free ice cream and magic. I am having some fun with it.

But it also leaves me wanting for somethin---for it does not feel like writing. It's fun, but simply that---fun. To me, it's not flight or mode of combat, words that take on shape and form, Even as I shared in the laughter and offered short comforting thoughts, I missed those long tales that are born from a soul that's an irrepressible retailer of words, a shopkeeper of phrase, an enabler of intent. Facebook is like hanging out with your best friends with beer.  Blogging can be like that as well.  But it can also be like sipping single malt scotch in front of a typewriter, which is where many of my stories started.

Still, where else can you post a cat with a gun, riding a fire snorting unicorn.
So I'll have my fun on Facebook even as I quietly say into the silent night - Blogging is not dead.

Book #2 was born, out of a blog post that became a chapter, than another, and another. Because I am a writer and my world has too many words.

I sit here now, no music playing, no noise---just the soft breathing of a dog and my thoughts, words almost imperceptible to the senses, hanging on the air to be plucked by my fingers and laid upon this white table.  This computer is my accomplice, guarding me with its quiet accord, bearing with me the seclusion, the mystery. I should probably get up and do some housework, but while the words are still within reach, I am imprisoned by the very freedom of my hands.

I think of the classic writers - would Jane Austin been a hit on Pinterest? Would Hemingway have been popular on Instagram? How many Twitters to win a Pulitzer prize?

Creativity can be short bursts of color and forms and words.

But not in the world that I like to live in.
I am a writer and I have too many words.

I am the run on sentence. I am the "too many commas".  I can't take a morning standing out among broken trees, red and blue lights flashing as words pass over the forest floor like the sound of big guns and make it a quip.  I can't look out upon the hills, the top of one wreathed in billowing smoke, as around me there are shouts and hollers, ringing out like war cries, yet spoken in hushed tones so as not to disturb the dead, and express it with a hashtag.

For words are my truth immense and they are my voice.

Blogging is dead.

It is not dead, it's strings of thoughts that you would have to travel far ahead not to hear, before you outrun the reach of a voice.  You can turn off your modem, but the words still exist.  For they are my words, and though confined to a virtual reality, they are words that exist, in my head and my heart, their tone from the stillness and gloom of a life with a past where my words were my one truth in each passing day.
You can chose to turn away, or turn off and not read.  It does not mean that the words are dead.  For I am a writer, and that is what we do, sharing the nature of that internal silence that follows us down into the depths of our soul, and brings up a bucket from a well---one brimming with words that spill over, to quench the thirsty hearts of whispering men.

I will still enjoy my Facebook, it's like waving at a neighbor you like as you pass each other coming out of your drive.

I'll still fail at Twitter and most other forms of social media. I'm just not interested in being connected to the whole world 24 and 7 and I'm perfectly happy being friends with only a few dozen people who realize that  friendship is not a button, it is a gift.

I've realized that those that truly care for us don't require constant validation, and if I don't send someone a Facebook "Like" on some un-posted socially acceptable schedule, my true friends will just chuckle and move on. For I am a writer---that solitary person that stood in the corner of the school yard and just looked on at the popular kids. But I always had the words, even when I was too solitary to say them.

I can go weeks and weeks and not talk to those I love. I will continue to be bad at responding to emails. I will love a few of my friends more than I can ever say. There are many of them I would take a bullet for. So, I say it on here, this is the place where I go to tell you the words that I meant to say, to offer a kind touch, or wake you up from some slumbering place where shadows may soon pounce.

It is what it is, a way to capture in words on a screen instead of a page, pages that can be held close in, or telegraphed to the world. It can be whimsy, it can be fun, it can be as disturbed as the mind behind it, or as calm someone one can stare at in wonder, words that reach out like a consoling whisper. It can be as intimate as a kiss or as impersonal as the wind.

It can simply be a piece of bacon and a smile.

Blogging is not dead.

It is alive, when the muse fails and the hands stay still in the air with an honest idiocy of objective which made their fruitlessness both profound and poignant. It is alive, when the fingers dance over the keyboard in a frenzy, grappling with ghosts in one final act of common courage.

It is alive, when the keyboard is silent and the house stills, and the one you treasure more than anything on earth looks up from the smart phone that you will never own and says "I love what you just wrote".
It is alive, because it is here my voice has no word count, it can be black and white or filled with color.  It will be stories of battles fought and won, of great mysteries, and simple pleasures. It will be warnings that the younger self will not grasp until the older self breathes its last. It will be joys and sad caresses, tender words laid out upon the tongue like a wafer, a benediction, a blessing, a self communion of one formed of two hands. If you do not read, I will still write as I do not write so you can claim some part of me. But if you come out from beneath that place---that conception of existence we hide under like a tortoise in his shell, and listen---the words will draw breath, even after I am gone.

Blogging is not dead.

It breathes as long as I do.  Because I'm a writer and there are so many words.
 - LBJ


  1. Hari OM
    Oh Kindred Spirit, you have rung the bell... I have often raged against the 'social' which is actually the destroyer of same and even this very day have added a DO NOT PIN badge to my blogs. Brwahahaha - Rodan twittering..... hehehehehehe

    Blogging is far from dead; it has merely settled into a secure and sensible place for exactly the sort of activity you describe. At all times write for the Self. All else falls into place. Sometimes that means having fun. Other times exploration. Occasional times, catharsis. Those who linger with you are likely to stay. As with society, one finds one's milieu, the group within which one feels most at home.

    Neither, I am sure, do you necessarily look for lengthy responses; but I read and I felt your heart - and recognised the beat...
    YAM xx

  2. Oh so well stated! No blogging is not dead, nor is it sickly! It is alive and growing with twists and turns like a gnarly old tree. We also are Twitter failures. And we're Pinterest failures too. But blogging? That's a keeper!

    Your Pals,

    Murphy & Stanley

  3. Blogging and Blogville is in my heart and soul. I love reading about my furfriends and their shenanigans.

    Aroo to you,

  4. I don't do facebook, or twitter. I do have an instagram account, love it when my family posts pictures on it.
    But I love blogging
    Mom of
    Bailey, Hazel & Mabel

  5. I (Frankie Furter) TRIED FaceBARK fur a week.... and just did NOT feel the love...
    WE are Blogville BLOGGERS and that is how it is...
    Your words here are SOOOOOOO true.

  6. Short bursts of creativity, heart and soul...

    I will remember this long after I stop remembering episodes of "I Love Lucy".

    "One new grave, surrounded by flags. One wooden box, bearing in cold air a warmth that can't be replaced."

    Brigid, I have chills reading this. It means more to me than you might think as it touches deep in my heart for both a dog that was by my side every minute, when each day came she was in it... and for my Dad, whose side I was always at, and my Mom, the Rock of our Family. All gone from me now, but never forgotten.

    I am so glad you have words and more to spare. I'll read each one as they come.

    Fair Winds, Following Seas and a Comforting Harbor at Journey's End,

    Cap'n Jan

  7. We blog because my mom likes to write also, sometimes she writes laughing words, and other times they are not, and it comes with the benefits of kind loving friends.....who always understand it is just fine to write from one pug to another who lives at the bridge secret emails....only in blogville.
    stella rose and momma

  8. blogging is still alive... fortunately... some things need more words than a smiley on FB and I'm glad we still write our blogs :o)
    easy rider


Welcome to The Book of Barkley and the Blogville dog blogging community. This blog was created for more memories of Barkley as well as updates on Abby the Senior rescue Lab, who we adopted in 2014.

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