The Finch Formerly Known As Gold

7 January 2006

Another one fights the rust

Edward announces the end of lactose incompetent:

The curtain will close on this site on January 9th, 2006. That's when the contract with my webhost expires, and I shall not be renewing. I'd like to thank those of you who've stuck with this humble site for over three years and bother reading my assorted ramblings.

I've learned a lot by playing with the blog format, the most essential of which is that I truly have nothing so earth-shattering to say that it must be presented to the world as fast as the words can travel the distance from my brain to my fingertips. There is a joy to savoring one's own words and one's own thoughts, allowing them to ripen and age appropriately before making the decision as to how, and even if, they will be shared with the world. While I am done with blogging, for now, I will never say never again, and I am far from done with writing. The topics brought forth here — spirituality, the role of work in our lifestyles, friendship, the art within our souls, anger at greed and injustice and cruelty, living one's best life and being true to one's own self, are subjects I will continue to explore in both fiction and non-fiction. But in the balance of my life, for all blogging has given me, in the end it has taken me away — away from relationships, away from life's work, away from sky and sun and fresh air, away from true writing.

While my own experience hasn't followed the same pattern, I can understand the need to get away from the blog: its demands are endless, its rewards sporadic, its ultimate importance undetermined. But I believe that writing is no less true, or at least no more untrue, just because it conforms to the blog format: sonnets and screeds, epics and whimsy, stories long, short and really short, all seem to coexist just fine.

The need for speed is another matter. When news runs on a 24-hour cycle, matters of little import are accelerated into a prominence which in the long term they will not deserve: I spent part of this morning rereading my January 2003 archives, and some of the tempests of that time's teapots produce barely a memory bubble today.

I will, of course, look for Edward under his real name on a bound volume; but I will miss the ability to click on him.

Posted at 12:12 PM to Blogorrhea