An Arrow Finds Its Mark

You Are Not He

Eagerly awaiting the response to a column is surely one of the main perks for writers who specialize in editorials and other forms of outwardly, blatant criticism. In this case, I've been waiting for the response to my last column that lambasted the blog form itself and, more specifically, my partner on my other venue See You Next Week. In that column, I strongly condemned this very type of forum because it panders to an audience that's rarely interested in a form of discourse that rises above that of the most flaccid and "narcissisistic" in nature. In fact, it seems to thrive on the notion that everyday, common occurrences are so mindblowingly interesting to readers that it's oftentimes necessary to chronicle these events on a repetitive, daily basis. Putting that aside, for now, let's address the response posted by Benedict on his site Heir to the Hornbook entitled "A Critical Primer for Critiquing the Critics".

At first glance, it seems as if Benedict is right on about most of my criticisms, but upon further review, it's abundantly clear that he's missing the point with regards to this type of forum and the more common forms of expression that seem to proliferate on them. One point, and this might help explain some of this, is that Benedict reads a lot of stuff that I'd never even consider opening up, pursuing, or even skimming over the first few pages of. There's a lot of stuff to read out there, and I'm of the opinion that it's important to concentrate on those forums that provide the best, most concise information in a way that not condescending in nature but, at the same time, not overly pretentious as well. Writing, in other words, is important enough for me to place a higher value upon that which I consume than most other aspects in my life. For instance, I don't read the local paper here in town, or even the campus news. Why? Because it's a waste of time. These papers are poorly written, hastily assembled mishmashes of detritus. Benedict, though, seems to find some sort of enjoyment out of pursuing, sometimes even reading entirely, the columns that appear in such low-brow forums as the campus news or the local event paper. It's just a waste of time.

Benedict's first claim: "He is also motivated by an eagerness get past a literary dry spell."

True, I've written on many occasions about my inability to fill this forum with words. I've had a rough time coming up with columns that are both interesting to me to write and that I think will be interesting for anyone who might stumble upon this site to read, but within the problem lies a pointed observation about me as a writer. I won't force myself to write. I just won't. It's not a helpful or even remotely therapeutic venture to write about, well, stuff. Journaling, a pointless exercise in my view, is fine for people who want to generate ideas for a novel, or something much grander than a blog, but I refuse to use this or any other venue as a way to just write for the sake of writing. It's stilted, boring, and without any real redeeming value. Benedict, on the other hand, likes to write, journal, free-write, etc. Because of this perceived need to post on a semi-regular basis, it seems to lead Benedict to write about subjects, while interesting in his own mind, are rather tame in nature. I feel, personally, that his writing is forced, at times, and he would be better off by not writing on such a regular basis. His writing is consistently good, but it's the content that suffers. Don't force the writing. It only makes it that more intolerable.

He goes on to mention that I "upbraid" him for his "callousness and narcissism." This is hardly the case. I don't feel that he writes because he's proclaiming, "Look, I'm really interesting. Read my blog and see how interesting my life is." No, far from it. I feel, though, that the style of writing is, essentially, forcing upon the reader a desired effect. The effect is something really good, published writers strive for and do naturally. It can't be done in a blog on a daily basis. Why? Because not everyone is a good writer. Writing is just like comedy. There's this perceived notion that anyone can tell a story that's interesting and it's the same notion that deludes people into feeling that they can tell a joke. Everyone can't be a comedian, just like everyone can't be a writer. There are only a few people that can write like a David Sedaris, and there are even fewer people who can tell a joke like a Jerry Seinfeld.

"When we suffer ourselves to endlessly critique the critics, we resemble those portraits of mirrors reflecting infinite mirrors. As a result, we endlessly reflect an increasingly weak simulacrum of the original content, without creating any content of our own. "

Now, this is the paragraph with the most venom, the biggest sting. Taking a loss at creating original content is a welcome trade-off when it comes to critiquing a form that, although in its infant stages, seems to have lost all hope of gaining some sort of vague rules by which it operate by. Much like free-verse poetry, which precludes any sort of structure for the sake of chaos, the blog forum is now governed by no supreme ruler. There are no rules here. People write in a manner that flaunts all convention, and, for the most part, limit their content to the banal in nature. There are really only two extremes in which blog writing falls into: the outrageous and the banal. Now, this goes back to my previous point about forcing the writing. Blog writers, in some vague attempt at originality, seem to thrive on these posts. In other words, the blogs grow, force their content and page length to grow, and fail, at an alarming rate, to add anything of real substance. The "dear diary" format that blogs have adopted signals a change in the way in which private matters are now seen as having the importance of a national headline. Diaries were a form of closed, private expression, and it seems that the blog format has given creative, or lack thereof, license for the masses to post writings that were once kept under lock and key for all to see. Why? It's a question of self-evaluation, and it seems to me that it indicates a disturbing trend in that people who wouldn’t previously have shared any of their private moments with anyone other than the occasional imaginary friend, are now equipped with the semi-delusional notion that their inner-most thoughts and opinions are of real worth to others. What makes it worse is the notion that these writers actually operate under the guise that they're good at it, when it fact they aren't.

The final point: Mob struggles with the question of why we write, constantly asking “What’s the point of all this?”
My pithy answer: “When the only resources you put into it are your time, enjoyment, and few stray electrons, there doesn’t have to be one.”

I don't question the reason why or what's the point of all this. I think I know why people write these self-centered diatribes. Benedict's notion that the amount of effort is minimum with regards to the final output, which I won't disagree with, and, again, that's not the issue. It's not a matter of expending energy. It's a matter of self stylized importance. Attaching grandiose value to near valueless observations or meandering ruminations is a clear indication that this type of format is encouraging people to emulate others in a poor, oftentimes, unreadable style. The amount of effort isn't in question. The inconsistent blather that results from it is.

Finally, I wasn't aware that I didn't possess "minutiae" in my vocabulary. Having been informed by a footnote that the term was "given" to me by Benedict is quite interesting. What this little snide remark says about Benedict, I'll leave for you to surmise, but I promise you that I wasn't "given" a term, which is rather common in nature. As for Benedict's defintion of "hornbook," perhaps you might want to look at a dictionary. Your definition, Benedict, seems awful similar to that of a diary, but a glance at the dictionary states something quite different. Perhaps the usage has changed. Perhaps, but I doubt it.