WRITING: Blogging

Have been playing leapblog since five a.m. Yes, of course I do it all the time, but just one concerted effort without being sidetracked was this morning’s goal. In a search for interesting logs, for writers who moved me, for talent and skill, for something different, for that elusive element of voice—on the off chance that mine is hiding in someone else’s head.

I found them. And then I found them, and found some more. More and more and more until outstanding became mundane. This is what I’m missing in my writing, I’d think, this is what I should strive for; what makes the difference. But whether the world is stuffed with wondrous writers or I’m a complete jackass of a reader, somewhere along the trail delight became boredom.

What makes one writer truly rise above the rest? Is it a perfect amalgamation of plot, character, setting, point of view, symbolism, theme, style, voice and story? Is it breaking these rules? Is it perfect grammar or is it colloquialism? Is it soul or is it twisting the truth to achieve effect? Does it all come down to simple readability or must it include durability, lastability (another of my new words to drive the dictionarily dysfunctional to distraction).

Just when I think I’ve found something I lose it, or let it go. I read something amazing. Quick! Bookmark it—until the list is heavy with impressive stuff. Go back and find out why, and huh? It’s okay, it’s good…but gospel? Some will still reach in and grip me, bring me back again and again. These are the ones I meant to link to, write glowing comments to, learn something from. But then, when they’re that good, I feel inadequate and ashamed to tag around as if I were a puppy.

I think Spinning will make or break me. I’ve finally allowed the urge to rise to fever pitch and it insists on being cared for, demands it with a vengeance, threatening to die if I desert it one more time. It knows I am still floundering, following, faking. It is the one indulgence I must give myself and see it through to a decision, because I abhor a half-ass job. It needs too much of my time and my attention; too much time away from other things that may not provide the pleasure but could, if allowed, offer satisfaction and meaning on a different plane. I feel my world ready either for expansion or acceptance, and the time has come to choose between the two.