My experience with my previous blog taught me something valuable: practically nobody gives a crap what I have to say. This is tremendously freeing. Provided I’m not posting suicide manifestos or plans to blow up the White House, I can say pretty much whatever I feel like, confident that it affects nothing and no one.
But that does raise the question of why, exactly, I’m going to the trouble to do so. There are three answers:
-To get things out. For instance, I’ve been muttering this for years. Since the Iranian elections of Spring 2009, at least. If I finally write it down, perhaps it will leave and make room for new mutterings. Gotta unload the old inventory, you know?
-To get a response. Somebody might say something. That something might make me think, or instruct me, or at least be funny. I know a lot of funny people. We might get some great lines.
-To make an existential gesture. To declare before God Almighty and history that this is what I am. This works well, because existential gestures are supposed to be pointless.
The reason I’m doing this is that in my forty-one years, I have not accomplished much in terms of the world. I have made a family, gotten a librarian’s degree, done some fictionalizing, but what I’ve spent most of my life on is Thinking. Brooding. Musing. I might as well write the thoughts down, to at least prove I really have been doing something this entire time.
This can’t interfere with my writing fiction. The previous blog zapped all of 2007 for fiction, and in retrospect that was a bad idea. Already I have found myself giving more time to thinking about blogging than about plotting. If that continues to be the case, this blog will end. Kiboshed. Terminated with extreme prejudice.
Thus is the founding statement of this blog, which maybe I should have posted when I started it a week ago. But as Phil Lesh said “If you want coherence, gentlemen, you’ve come to the wrong place.” On that note, welcome to the Library You See in Dreams.