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The Blogging Disease
Anyone who practices a discipline with intent and regularity risks more psychological changes than just addiction. When I spent much of my time creating watercolor paintings and teaching others how to do it, I began to see differently. A working artist looks at every scene in terms of painting it, even to the point of automatically considering which color (Viridian or Sap Green?) to use, which paper, what technique to capture the essence.
When I worked full-time at a newspaper and went on vacation, I felt deformed without a typewriter, as if one of my limbs were cut off. I learned my sensation was not unique. Other reporters admitted to the same feeling. That's why part of my Blogger profile states that I "can't think without a keyboard." Worse yet, I now seldom experience anything without composing a post in my mind. My interior dialog has become a constant commentary, nearly simultaneous with reality. I call it, "The Blogging Disease".
Because I live alone, without so much as a cat to converse with, I don't hesitate to verbalize these blog posts. After all, aren't we writers always urged to read our work aloud? Only at stoplights do I become aware of my habit--when I catch a glimpse of an amused face in the car alongside. So, I nod my head and pretend to be singing along with the radio. It's always a very slow song.
When I worked full-time at a newspaper and went on vacation, I felt deformed without a typewriter, as if one of my limbs were cut off. I learned my sensation was not unique. Other reporters admitted to the same feeling. That's why part of my Blogger profile states that I "can't think without a keyboard." Worse yet, I now seldom experience anything without composing a post in my mind. My interior dialog has become a constant commentary, nearly simultaneous with reality. I call it, "The Blogging Disease".Because I live alone, without so much as a cat to converse with, I don't hesitate to verbalize these blog posts. After all, aren't we writers always urged to read our work aloud? Only at stoplights do I become aware of my habit--when I catch a glimpse of an amused face in the car alongside. So, I nod my head and pretend to be singing along with the radio. It's always a very slow song.
[blogging]
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posted by Georganna Hancock M.S. | 9:32 AM
4 Comments:
Nod nod yes yes
I understand.
Now to go post about your post. :D
Oh yes, me too.
In fact I do so much of that I actually forget to blog. You know the kind of thing; the "rant" you really want to say - that you verbalise very loudly, in the privacy of your automobile - and then find don't need to write or send, once you've got it off your chest.
I did used to refer to blogging therapeutically as "shouting into the void" until I noticed people were actually reading it ;-)
Love that reverse dictionary link below. Cross-words may never be the same again.
Ian
Oh! I'm so relieved to learn I'm not the only one who talks to herself in the car. And yes, the rants! Soooo satisfying, until I realize that no one real has heard me! Thank goodness.
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