Our blogging colleagues Jennifer Rose and David Leffler (Staring at Strangers) have posted two interesting -- and complementing and contradictory -- articles on why people blog.
The first is an article from Scientific American. You can almost hear the author caution in her best lab coat voice: "Now. Do not read too much into this." She then tells us that scientists have known for years that writing has a therapeutic benefit in coping with stress and, perhaps, physiological benefits, as well. In other words, writing just makes us feel better. I fall into that category. I have experienced far more endorphin production in writing a sonnet than I ever have in sweating my way to Nirvana on the exercise bike.
But that is simply a benefit of writing. What makes the blog special? The article points out that blogging adds an additional element to mere writing. A blogger actively seeks and finds solace in the blogosphere -- forming a community.
If that seems a bit high-falutin' for what we do, the second article from this past week's Sunday New York Times Magazine seems like a visitation from Oz. The article is an angst-ridden cri de coeur by Emily Gould, a twentysomething (26, if I have added correctly) former editor of what can politely be called a privacy-stealing "celebrity" blog. She relates a far too-detailed slide into obsessive blogging in both her professional and personal life.
But even we small-time operators will recognize her comment on why we write comments to be read by strangers:
The first is an article from Scientific American. You can almost hear the author caution in her best lab coat voice: "Now. Do not read too much into this." She then tells us that scientists have known for years that writing has a therapeutic benefit in coping with stress and, perhaps, physiological benefits, as well. In other words, writing just makes us feel better. I fall into that category. I have experienced far more endorphin production in writing a sonnet than I ever have in sweating my way to Nirvana on the exercise bike.
But that is simply a benefit of writing. What makes the blog special? The article points out that blogging adds an additional element to mere writing. A blogger actively seeks and finds solace in the blogosphere -- forming a community.
If that seems a bit high-falutin' for what we do, the second article from this past week's Sunday New York Times Magazine seems like a visitation from Oz. The article is an angst-ridden cri de coeur by Emily Gould, a twentysomething (26, if I have added correctly) former editor of what can politely be called a privacy-stealing "celebrity" blog. She relates a far too-detailed slide into obsessive blogging in both her professional and personal life.
But even we small-time operators will recognize her comment on why we write comments to be read by strangers:
No wonder we're ready to confess our innermost thoughts to everyone: we're constantly being shown that the surest route to recognition is via humiliation in front of a panel of judges.
Or this observation:
Now and then I run into a comment on a blog that dove tails with an idea I have been mulling over. This matter of why we blog just happens to be one.
I have noticed that I have become slightly obsessed with my blogging activities. I discuss it with friends. I hand out the address to strangers. I will often stay up late to watch my scheduled publication appear. And then I wait for the joy of the comments -- to be able to talk with people as they react to what I wrote or to share some new idea that I have missed. In other words, the blog has reduced me to the maturity level of an 8-year old girl.
Endorphins? Probably. Therapy? Certainly. Community? Without doubt.
But for all of my critical comments, I think Emily Gould makes a great point that we record our thoughts as a sign that we exist -- perhaps it is the essence of an existential universe. And we do it in blogs in a far more humane way than the slash and burn comments that can be found on many Mexican message boards.
But I blog for an additional reason. I have a very selective memory. This blog has given me a great opportunity to go back and look at my thoughts about moving to Mexico -- and to compare them to my thoughts now. Interestingly, the review often causes me to change my current plans.
And, in turn, the process causes me to include more open and honest recording of my thoughts.I will never publish the type of private information Emily seems to glory in.
But if any of you wish to publish the deep dark corners of your heart, I remind you of a little embroidered pillow that adorned Alice Roosevelt Longworth's couch: "If you don't have anything good to say, sit next to me."
[T]hey like the idea that there's a place where a record of
their existence is kept ***. In real life, we wouldn't invite any passing stranger into these situations, but the remove of the Internet makes it seem O.K.
Now and then I run into a comment on a blog that dove tails with an idea I have been mulling over. This matter of why we blog just happens to be one.
I have noticed that I have become slightly obsessed with my blogging activities. I discuss it with friends. I hand out the address to strangers. I will often stay up late to watch my scheduled publication appear. And then I wait for the joy of the comments -- to be able to talk with people as they react to what I wrote or to share some new idea that I have missed. In other words, the blog has reduced me to the maturity level of an 8-year old girl.
Endorphins? Probably. Therapy? Certainly. Community? Without doubt.
But for all of my critical comments, I think Emily Gould makes a great point that we record our thoughts as a sign that we exist -- perhaps it is the essence of an existential universe. And we do it in blogs in a far more humane way than the slash and burn comments that can be found on many Mexican message boards.
But I blog for an additional reason. I have a very selective memory. This blog has given me a great opportunity to go back and look at my thoughts about moving to Mexico -- and to compare them to my thoughts now. Interestingly, the review often causes me to change my current plans.
And, in turn, the process causes me to include more open and honest recording of my thoughts.I will never publish the type of private information Emily seems to glory in.
But if any of you wish to publish the deep dark corners of your heart, I remind you of a little embroidered pillow that adorned Alice Roosevelt Longworth's couch: "If you don't have anything good to say, sit next to me."
