I wrote a recent blog post that explained a lot the reason behind all these posts in Spanish but I refuse to just translate it for my English-speaking readers. There is higher merit in giving each language an opportunity and my thoughts aren’t the same in any of those languages I will try to explain better, with the same reading and process, why do I write and keep a blog.
My friend Ana Patricia wrote a blog post that talked to me like I was drunk at a bar and she wanted to take me home. She wrote that one should know what their blog is about, it is important. It isn’t an option. One must always know why we do the things we do, even more, if we mean a higher purpose. Beyond money and recognition, the core of any writing should serve a noble purpose, I believe. Language in itself cannot be evil, although silence often feels necessary. Like my favorite Depeche Mode song.
Modern ways of crafting
Blogspot was the host of my previous blog. It still holds all the things I published, not meant for a web publication but able to be read anyway. What I learnt from it could not be taught just by advice: Language goes beyond than literature, although the latter also serve a communication purpose. Little did I know that language serves a higher purpose than just beauty, against what I taught myself through college.
Reading the Classics was a writing class itself but it did not prepare me for this new method of publishing your thoughts and dissertations. I bet that if Kafka would have had a blog, he would’ve kept it private. Writing and keeping a blog is an entirely different thing and it should have its own purpose.
Being able to find the right words to express the right feeling or thought is like gold mining. You dig and dig for a valuable resource that can be exploited for gain until the world ends. I don’t know much about gold but being so valuable just says how long lasting this material is, like the human experience or language itself.
Blogging is an entirely different platform. It’s more immediate than books and can cover immediate subjects or more transcendental ones. At the touch of a click, you have all these ideas available and you don’t really know what to read. People end up reading exactly what they want and those lost just wander.
I write to make the effort of finding the exact words for my craft, as I am just an amateur. I say writer in my profile just to call in employers but I do feel like a phoney. Writing this blog can be an attempt to dig for my own gold and exploit it until my hands wear off.
Hunting for butterflies
I’ll start by quoting Flannery O’Connor again:
I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.
My own personal effort to write is to hunt down the butterflies of my own thoughts.
They fly so fast before my eyes I can’t even catch them when speaking. Writing becomes my own word-hunting adventure as they seem to be lured by my speech and start to stand quite enough above the lines. These butterflies are slippery and when I’m reading there seems to be more. I would pay good money to catch more but I’m happy this option is free.
Fitzgerald said to write not because you want to say something, you do it because you do have something to say but I don’t listen. This blog hasn’t been disciplined by him and I’m glad. It’ll help me dig for gold and start my thought-entomology efforts. It’s admirable how the great writers have found ways to put together their own thoughts but us bloggers are left with the fear of public speaking as an editor.
Not to be a blank space
It is known now about my post in the crowdfunding area. It has made the news in Germany, for crying out loud! Thank God it wasn’t a live interview otherwise, my point would not have come across. I am not a public speaker, I am a writer and that’s why I chose to write and carry on with a blog.
This is the perfect way to share my thoughts among those who know me and to reach those who don’t. My country is in the middle of a crisis, in all aspects, and I feel like it’s my duty to say something about it and to represent those who can’t speak for themselves. As I spoke to the reporter, I felt like my words were the words of my neighbours who lost a lot of weight during this crisis, the words of my friends who left us and looked for a better life abroad, the words of the elderly who watch the younger generation crumble inside these frontiers.
I refuse to be voiceless and, since I am not much of a talker, I choose the better way to make my point come across.
Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind
Virginia Woolf – A Room of One’s Own
Everyone is free in their own mind. I choose to express that freedom in my writing. There aren’t enough books in the world to correctly express what my fingers mean when they say freedom. As long as I am able to dig for my gold and hunt down my own butterflies, I will expose them and exploit them.
The reason behind what I write is all of this. There is nothing more satisfying for my own freedom right than to write, to say exactly what my butterfly is doing and which kind it is, otherwise, I’ll be a slave of those creatures. To be free is to learn how to deal with my own butterfly-thoughts.
As Bartleby, I would rather not do many things except writing, except for loving my family and covering basic needs. I’m not that crazy yet.