I won’t lie to you, a part of me still believes having a blog, is for lack of a better term, a mark of a true douche bag. So, what does that make me? Part douche bag? An easy yes. In the pursuit of honesty, who isn’t a douche bag to some small degree in one way or another? Call me self-depreciating, but I think it’s delusional to think otherwise. Not everyone is going to love or even like you, and that’s okay.
So here we are, discussing the oddities of blogs on a blog. The ironic inception is strong with this one, but it’s true. A blog is strange, for so many reasons. One, who actually cares? We live in this era where sacred is public and public is fiction. We tell the stories we want to live to those we don’t know, all the while, the realities we run from are known by those closest to us. Cryptic, yes. Unnaturally common? Yes. So why do I do it? To bear down on the truth, rather than creating a glorified fantasy that builds twisted little realities. To me, reality is often twisted enough that the most humane thing you can do is let it be. Unravel the monster, and you’ll twist it even further, let it lie, bare it all, and it oddly finds a way of settling.
The other all-consuming oddity I find with blogs is the glorification of blogs that don’t understand the art of language. Ok, this may be my crowning douche bag moment but I’m old fashioned, and I appreciate words being spelt correctly. It may be hard but if you want to write, make your writing memorable for its meaning, not it’s lack of skill. Even worse are those blogs that apologise for their lack of care, don’t apologise, just work on it. It infuriates me beyond belief because this brings me to the root of my hatred with blogs. Blogs tend to glorify the person, not the content. Now I am a sucker for aesthetics, and I will never trust a menu which uses comic sans but writing to me, has always been about the content. Take that away and what do you have? A pretty little flower with no roots to grow.
I fell in love in love with language almost by mistake. As a child, my father told me that curse words were a sign of a poor vocabulary, the defiant fighter in me wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to both, so I extended my vocabulary beyond my limits. I vividly remember learning to spell ‘orchestra’ at a young age, I don’t know why but that’s always stuck with me. I ended up in advanced English in primary school and took it for granted. I read the first and last chapter and refused to indulge it any further. It was in form four English that I fell deeply in love. I didn’t like my teacher, and from memory, she didn’t like me, nor thought I had any capability to achieve. So that defiant little fighter, as you can tell I am highly euphemising the term brat here, came out and I set out to prove her wrong. I did, but in doing so, I gained something greater which has stayed with me ever since. My love affair with language that defines who I am beyond anything else.
So here we are, I am professing my love and pushing for people who hold the pen, so to speak, in reverence. Honour the words that craft your story. Do not play light with them because you never know when something you write, will reach beyond it’s place and stay with someone. That’s the magic of language, don’t take it for granted. No matter your stage, blog, print, speech, your words matter, take care of them and they will take care of you.
Take care, and be kind.