Some people, most of them “serious” writers, declared blogging to be a stillbirth, strangled on its own self-referential umbilical. Recent critics have decided blogging is the retarded cousin that doesn’t get to come to the family reunions because it always tries to bathe in the potato salad. They recommend Farcebook, or Instagram, or Twitter, all the better to take hold of social media’s throat and force that content down.
That way, they proclaim from their mountaintop, you can better monetize your content.
The last person who deserved to use the word “monetize” was Dorothy Parker: “The two most beautiful words in the English language are ‘check enclosed’.” Those half a million feebs hoping to make a living off recycled jokes on YouTube? Not so much.
But what if you aren’t writing for money? (I have just peed myself laughing at the very idea of getting PAID to do this. Excuse me, wardrobe change.)
What if you’re writing for sanity retention? (And now the idea of “sanity” has once again soiled my delicates.)
Is blogging for the sake of just getting things out of the dirty old psyche and into the cleansing light of day a valid reason to keep on? Well, it’s certainly cheaper than professional therapy and less couch-dependent. On the other hand, for the most part, you’re talking to yourself. That is the kind of thing that usually gets you sent to the shrink, not deters the trip. Still, it’s more fun, because psychiatric professionals don’t come with templates and ways to change the color of the font.
Well, actually, they do have templates, only they call them “case histories.”
And the font color first has to want to change.