One-Year-Old and Still Spitting Up Words

Indelicate as it may sound, what’s the worst thing about changing diapers on a writer’s blog? Obvious: it’s a load of smurshy adverbs and adjectives, plus what looks suspiciously like mashed-up peas. Why would I jar your sensibilities with such imagery? Because this blog is one year old, and it feels like screaming.

Well, perhaps just clearing its throat and smiling giddily for the camera. But instead of recounting my blogging triumphs and tribulations (oh, the hangnails!), and relating my tremulous beginnings, let’s have actual fun instead. Here, then are how three famous writers started their blogs.

Albert Camus
My blog was born today. Or maybe yesterday; I can’t be bothered. After the first few lines of the post, I felt exceedingly tired, and I put to rest. I answered the postman’s knock, and when he handed me a few fliers, I felt his look contained a judgment. I thought he was accusing me of something, perhaps even something indecent. I blurted out, “Yes, the blog, I’ll finish it. There is time!” But I closed the door on him without needing to see his reaction. Later, I felt poorly for having done it. Ennui.

Ernest Hemingway
He was an old man that blogged alone in a trailer off the California Coast, and he’d gone eighty-four days without a post. The first forty days a ragged old cat sat with him, waiting for the soothing sound of the keyboard. But even a cat loses loyalty after forty days. The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles on his knuckles from holding them over the keyboard. But still the words wouldn’t come. His mind always wandered to baseball, wondering why those damn Yankees were still in the league. But there was whiskey. The blog could wait.

Mark Twain
You don’t know me without you have read a blog called The Write Word, but that ain’t no matter. That blog is just as filled with lies as the rest of ’em, but it’s tolerable, if you’ve a taste for highfalutin hogwash. I’d just as soon blog about how a twist in a catfish tail tells you if you’re coming down with the gout, and whether spittin’ a glob of tobacco juice or a glob of vinegar is more likely to kill a roach. All that other hokum about blog traffic and targets is just fiddledeedee, and them other bloggers know it. My blog will be about graveyards and dead cats and haints—now that’s traffic! Lean on in now and I’ll tell you a story that will set your hair afire…

OK, they might not have done them exactly that way, but you get the idea. They were like all writers, common horse thieves who steal words and ideas. It’s just how they put them together that made the difference. Thanks for spending some time with me this past year.

I can’t wait for the terrible twos, when I really get to scream.