The Voice

I can turn a phrase, I'll give me that.

Not to sound like a douche or anything ... but I like to think, as a writer, that I know what I've got.

I consider myself a writer first, a "blogger" dead last ... I'm not "sharing", I'm expressing ... in fact, I'm not a writer at all ...

I compose things:  build sentences.  Craft paragraphs ...

I'm a Writer.

As a "blogger", I'm just dead in the water.  Sunk in a sea of voiceless fish ... all glub-glubbing their lists, and their how-to primers ... their Do and Don't treatises ... nasty "reviews", insipid, rude rumors, provocation-less thoughts and, generally, woefully unfunny "humor" ...

As a writer, I've become inured ... learned to repel, to tune most of it out;

as a blogger, to thrive, stay afloat and alive in the dead sea of overwrought, voiceless fish ... you are compelled, to take it all in.

As a Writer ... I remain repellent.

I Belong?

Hey, thank you, Nina, for the reblog.

So I've just joined Goodreads, which on the surface would seem to be an excellent fit for me and my online networking needs.  While admittedly not an "avid" reader, I read a little ... I love words and literature, and relate psychologically to numerous authors, if not (necessarily) to some classic characters.  I'm well-rounded enough to appreciate "dead white authors" and "negro music", and can easily find on Goodreads all the titles I've read (many of which I still own, proudly, dog-eared, physical copies) and the hundreds of other like-minded souls who have come before me in reading and "sharing".

But then the question becomes, "Now what?"  Now that I've arrived and stepped into the party, I'm not really sure what to do with myself.

Just like in real life ... I become a wallflower.  Too shy, or indifferent, to try to "engage".  In the same way that musically, I'm not a "creator", so technically, don't belong on SoundCloud ... to me, Good Reading -- not to mention, good listening -- is something to be appreciated silently, privately.

No offense, but I don't care to "share" with you, the books I've read ... or when I've read them, as Goodreads disturbingly prompts me to do.  The 'pride of ownership' which comes from slogging through Ulysses, or the vague whiff of pretension earned from being able to discuss intelligently Céline, or Milan Kundera, or Amiri Baraka's acclaimed Blues People, dissipates in the communal trough ... becoming meaningless, to everybody.

Simply put, what makes me special?

It's my tired old saw about individualism, and how Personhood seems to be going going, gone the way of Privacy in our "sharing culture".  If everybody's doing something, what's the point, why bother?

I have no idea how to "use" Goodreads ... No idea which one's the Mayor, right?  Who's the hostess, or who to be mingling with ... but it seems to be a noisy party.

I suppose the night is young.