timothy falconer's semantic weblog
Big Fractal Tangle

the conceit of blogging

Whenever I write a blog post, there’s a small part of me thinking, “Who am I to be writing this? Just who could possibly care what I have to say?” I sit here typing words with the mild expectation that somebody out there will actually read them. I rarely know if people do, though from time to time I hear that someone has. Most times though, it feels like I’m whistling into the wind. And still I do it anyway.

The very act of creating a blog carries with it a kind of “home movie” conceit. Each blogger thinks their views and their life are interesting enough to memoralize in digital ink, inflicting their personal brand of blather on the web, adding more and more to our already overwhelming information overload.

Do we really need three hundred people telling us their take on the new Mac OS X? Do we need highschoolers describing lunch room intrigue, or angst-ridden twenty-somethings detailing their day? Do we really need another 40-ish computer programmer rattling on about web tech and the software biz? Do we give a damn about his personal life?

Well, yes, actually. At least, I do. From where I sit, home movies get a bad rap. Yeah, it can be tedious as hell watching someone go on and on about what a great time they had. Sure, some people seem to have a never-ending river of drivel that they inflict on us without asking. But we’re adults, right? We can say, “I’m bored right now. Can we talk about something else.” We can risk their wrath in hopes of an actual connection.

I’m personally thrilled when I find someone who geniunely reveals themselves on the web, who writes of their realness and their struggles in the everyday world. Quite honestly, it’s the gattling-gun “thought leaders” that leave me wanting more, who find a new website every five minutes, make a link, and blog “Interesting”, with nothing more to say.

Who are you really? What scares you? What makes you happy? I really do want to know, because telling makes it so.

So tell me.

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