I Write, Therefore I Am

If the title of this post is a true expression of modernist existential angst, to write or not to write be no question at all. On the contrary it be a prerogative.

Certainly I would not be the first to come up with that variation on a philosophical paradigm. And certainly not the first here, in ‘Blogsville’.

Posts that attract attention, in ‘Blogsville’ I mean, are commonly those where people write about themselves, what they do, and their daily grind.

I do get that you should write about what you know. And, most people presumably know themselves pretty well. They at the very least know what happened to them during the course of the day well enough.

Writing is also, by nature, a very personal process. And it is here perhaps where the penchant to write about one’s own world blooms. But was there not always this unwritten rule, and not just in the world of writing, that one did not talk about oneself — at least not so much, or with so much of unabashed flare and sans diffidence?

This penchant does seem at odds with that hitherto common understanding that one best not talk about themselves for want of boasting and bragging and general overindulging.

Yet again, writing and ego do go hand-in-glove.

So what does it mean to write: apart from self expression; a focus to clarity of thought; to communicate and reach out; to entertain?

Is the act of writing a higher higher-centre cognitive process or just unspoken words in print? Is web-logging not just another form of reality TV?

And how much do, say, looks play a part in writing. They seem to play a part in everything else. And what of cadence? Prosody? And rhythm?

Are we not (mostly) over and done with reality TV? What is all the fuss? Don’t people have their own lives to worry about without having to fuss about everybody else’s? Or am I raining out your parade here?

I write, therefore you are.


And of them was the whole earth overspread