Explaining silence
It's been a while since I blogged, and it's not because I had nothing to say. In fact, I got a dozen or more unfinished posts just waiting for my finishing touch. So basically there have been stuff that I've been wanting to post but, for some reason or the other, I did not do so.
Interestingly, a few months ago I said exactly the same thing after a similarly long spell of blog-silence. I wonder if this post will, once again, precede another long spell of blog-silence. I don't know which way my blogging will go, but one thing is certain... I'm not quitting. Once a blogger, always a blogger. Once you're in it, you can't get out. OK. That was being a little dramatic but you know what I mean.
But then there is such a thing as 'real life' with its many demands like deadlines and deadlines and more deadlines. So what does one do after a few sleepless nights writing a brochure or a corporate film? No points for guessing... the zzzzz song, of course.
On the other hand, there are times when one wonders if blogging stuff achieves anything of value. Does it make any difference to anyone what one writes here? Is it a colossal waste of time disguised as 'making a difference'?
I wish I have some answers to these questions, and frankly, I don't.
However, these questions apply not only to blogging but to other forms of writing as well. Journalism - that self appointed doyen of responsible writing, suffers from this malady (or rather, is supposed to be). Similar questions are raised about poetry, short stories, essays and novels as well. There are people who'd insist that enthusiasm over an iambic pentameter is just way too frivolous and elitist and that people are better off pondering over water filtration devices instead.
So it all boils down to... value, and the struggle to define what constitutes a value added activity and what should be clearly regarded as a glorified waste of time. The eternal battle between the idealists and the pragmatists. The battle for space that no one wants to abdicate that easily.
Frankly, I don't know whether blogging accomplishes anything or for that matter I don't know even know if any of these words will touch a soul and move a mountain. But as a writer I realise that's not for me to worry about. My responsibility ends the moment I finish writing and then whatever I write assumes a life all its own. Readers - if there be such entities - will respond the way they wish to. They may love it, hate it, be inspired by it, be repulsed by it or be totally indifferent to the point of not caring what's written. That should not be my problem.
What I should do is, simply, write when I feel the urge to say something. Silence is never an option when a thought requires articulation. The choice is mine. Either I listen to my inner muse and write or I just throttle that urge and silence the storm.
Question is, will I do what I must or just continue doing things the way they are?
Interestingly, a few months ago I said exactly the same thing after a similarly long spell of blog-silence. I wonder if this post will, once again, precede another long spell of blog-silence. I don't know which way my blogging will go, but one thing is certain... I'm not quitting. Once a blogger, always a blogger. Once you're in it, you can't get out. OK. That was being a little dramatic but you know what I mean.
But then there is such a thing as 'real life' with its many demands like deadlines and deadlines and more deadlines. So what does one do after a few sleepless nights writing a brochure or a corporate film? No points for guessing... the zzzzz song, of course.
On the other hand, there are times when one wonders if blogging stuff achieves anything of value. Does it make any difference to anyone what one writes here? Is it a colossal waste of time disguised as 'making a difference'?
I wish I have some answers to these questions, and frankly, I don't.
However, these questions apply not only to blogging but to other forms of writing as well. Journalism - that self appointed doyen of responsible writing, suffers from this malady (or rather, is supposed to be). Similar questions are raised about poetry, short stories, essays and novels as well. There are people who'd insist that enthusiasm over an iambic pentameter is just way too frivolous and elitist and that people are better off pondering over water filtration devices instead.
So it all boils down to... value, and the struggle to define what constitutes a value added activity and what should be clearly regarded as a glorified waste of time. The eternal battle between the idealists and the pragmatists. The battle for space that no one wants to abdicate that easily.
Frankly, I don't know whether blogging accomplishes anything or for that matter I don't know even know if any of these words will touch a soul and move a mountain. But as a writer I realise that's not for me to worry about. My responsibility ends the moment I finish writing and then whatever I write assumes a life all its own. Readers - if there be such entities - will respond the way they wish to. They may love it, hate it, be inspired by it, be repulsed by it or be totally indifferent to the point of not caring what's written. That should not be my problem.
What I should do is, simply, write when I feel the urge to say something. Silence is never an option when a thought requires articulation. The choice is mine. Either I listen to my inner muse and write or I just throttle that urge and silence the storm.
Question is, will I do what I must or just continue doing things the way they are?
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Pragya