In a recent article on A List Apart, Dennis A. Mahoney gives his take on why so many weblogs today are boring and not worth the clicks it takes to get to them. His answer--they are badly written. He also offers advice for bloggers who want to become more readable contributors to the cyber dialogue. As I understand it, the article is an attempt by Mahoney to offer positive suggestions to offset the complaints he’s levied on 0format.com.
Simply put, I disagree with Dennis, especially with his basic premise: that amateurish writing in the blogging community is a bad thing. He says:
"Amateurs are writing as they’ve always written. Self-consciousness, self-doubt, awkwardness, and overcompensation are perennial hallmarks of the beginning writer. The reason today’s amateurs seem more profoundly un–profound could be a simple matter of exposure.”
Let me start by admitting this: I am a “wordaholic.” I've made my living at writing and editing since 1982, and I’ve come across the range of writing talent (and lack thereof) over the last two decades.
I'm not sure whose weblogs Dennis has been reading, but they must be different than the ones I’m reading. It makes me wonder, are we on the same net? For my part, I’ve come across astounding “amateur” writers in my blog travels—folks who didn’t know they could write, who still don’t think they can write even though they’re doing it every day, and who today put my blog to shame. The words they choose are inspired by emotion, not by years of study in the finer workings of grammar. Their thoughts are free from corporate confines, usually for the first time. They are expressing what’s meaningful to them—from cat shit, to divorce, to Linux—in a way that’s meaningful to them.
And I can’t get enough.
Mahoney points to the lack of “gatekeeping” as a reason why we are burdened with poor writing on the net:
”There used to be impenetrable gatekeepers. Now, CNN roundtables, documentaries, independent films, MTV, and the web—which has no gatekeepers in most countries—are broadcasting every poorly crafted phrase and half–cooked idea imaginable. Patience, readers. All is not lost.”
Message to Dennis: Nothing’s lost. Everything is found.
Give me every poorly crafted phrase and half-baked idea. And then give me some more.
I want to get lost and stay lost--lost in the world of possibilities, of mining gems from this fertile online playground. I want to be the first to find the amazing, and then share it with everyone I know. I want to unearth ideas, not good sentence structure. I want to read all of the asides, all of the streams of consciousness. I want to ride those streams as they wind and intersect with others and find amazement in those intersections.
And, call me strange, but in the constructs of blogging, I’d rather read this (Mahoney’s example of amateurish writing):
”I know this is a cliché nowadays, especially after 9/11, but I live in New York, which is much cleaner and safer now because of Giuliani, who really ought to be president after handling the crisis so well, and I know I’ve had some issues in the past with the mayor’s handling of the NYPD in regard to African Americans and his war against art involving sacred religious icons and feces (hello!? freedom of expression!?), but when all is said and done, New York, as maybe the best example of the ‘melting pot’ etc. etc., is a great city, especially when it starts getting warmer and people go outside more, like around March or April.
…than this (Mahoney’s example of professional writing):
New York is magnificent in spring.
Much of the advice offered in the RULES section of the article is helpful. I’m not sure Mahoney’s rules are necessary, but they’re helpful. I don’t agree with his advice to discard the first person (“I”) when possible. After all, if we are “writing ourselves into existence,” as David Weinberger says, then it’s hard to throw ourselves aside in favor of “good” writing.
I do agree with Mahoney on a point he makes toward the end of his article, and one he makes nicely: “The advice ‘write only what you know’ increases the likelihood that you will know the same things forever.”
This is sound advice for bloggers. Blogging is exploration. Good blogging is not always writing what you know about—often it’s writing about what you don’t know, what you can’t understand, the mysteries that have been tugging at your shirt sleeve since you were a kid. Uncover those, and I’ll read you every day, I don’t care how few periods or how many commas you use.
I again agree with Mahoney in his recommendation that bloggers get personal.
”Readers crave your anecdotes and stories. They really do. So give ‘em the whole megillah. Instead of, ‘The party was a riot!’ or ‘I’m depressed today,’ carefully explain why. Elaborate. Parties and depression are perfectly good writing subjects. The Great Gatsby, for instance, has plenty of both.”
I suppose my biggest problem with the article is this: I just don’t see this level of writing lameness that Mahoney asserts is rampant in the blogging community. What has stunned me all along is the lack of lameness, the overwhelming brilliance of so many people. When I click close on my browser at the end of the day, I wonder, “Where the hell did all of these smart people come from? And where have they been?” They aren’t professional writers, but they are becoming professional thinkers. And that’s even better.
In his conclusion, Mahoney advises bloggers to pay attention to their readers:
”No matter what your audience size, you ought to write as if your readership consisted of paid subscribers whose subscriptions were perpetually about to expire. There’s no need to pander. Compel them to re–subscribe.”
I advise you differently:
Write like no one’s there. Write like everyone’s there. Write as if you have no audience, because you don’t. You are part of a conversation. You are completely and perfectly free to explore, to not care, to lose yourself in conjecture. You are free to destroy notions you’ve always had. You are welcome to challenge me and everything I thought was true. You are advised to listen, to reflect, to engage.
And then, when you are done with all of that, do it again tomorrow.
