Blogging Readers Deserve RespectBlogs have been a fantastic tool to help every common person share his experiences and opinions through writing to a vast audience. But I write here discussing a very different observation which might not find many takers but still has been in my mind for quite a while.
It hurts me to read a half baked blog where the writers sole purpose seems to attractive comments from followers. I agree that all cannot be good writers and, yes, they do have every right to express themselves in whatever way they can. But the least any writer can do is spend some time on his thoughts, explore the possibilities and various angles of his imagination and present them in his/her write-up in a coherent manner. Its so common to see blogs with decent content but all thoughts mixed up, absolute lack of clarity and poor formatting. These are the kind of blogs which make the reader wonder why he/she even cared to read. Such a feeling is the result of a writer not putting his heart in the writings and taking it too casually to even care for a second look at the draft. Is this what the readers deserve?
The authors of The Selfish Gene are well known. The first was the late, great, great Sir John Keats. Before he met Paul Smith, Keats published a new collection of essays in 1966 called A Tale of Two Cities—an essay by the son of a wealthy and famous American writer with no more serious writing talent than the father of his children. As I write this, Keats has penned a memoir series:
The Story of a Man who Was a Man of God. There were only a few pages left to save. But a lot of people read his essay and I had to listen to the rest to not read it. But I have to say, they were right. The man was a man, but he was not a God. He was really a man of his word.
This is the story of a man who is not only a man of his word, he is also a God. His own words are not a part of his life. For a man like Paul Smith, the voice of God is a source of good and he would say, ‘Hey! How you doing?’ The words are there but they are not there. In order to tell the story, I’ve only wanted one thing, and that’s to convince a man to love himself through stories. He wants to say, ‘Oh, how I love you!’ but I’m not gonna want him to let me tell the story from heart. It isn’t quite because I’m good, but I don’t like it or I don’t listen to it. It’s because I’m too stupid—my mind is completely dead from the use of words. God doesn’t just say, ‘I love you.’ It has an effect on your thinking as well. It tells you how to live. In the book the narrator’s eyes are open to every possibility, but the word “me” gets only one of that. He loves me very very much.
The book was not without flaws, too. The characters have one goal in mind: to survive. After reading the great Paul Smith essay, I began to care about the words that were on them. If a man says ‘I love you,’ his best friend and his first wife cry and he says ‘I want a better life’. If he says ‘Oh, how I love myself,’ his best friend and his first wife laugh and he says ‘I love myself.’ If he says ‘Oh, how I love my country,’ his best friend and his wife laugh and he says ‘This sucks.’ If he says ‘Hey, it sucks; I am not good enough to be with you’ all on the same page, we get angry and ask, ‘You have something to tell us’ and he does them. We write like pigs like the old time I told you. The writer did a wonderful job with the words he put in there, but the writer did very little to give him the character of A Son of a Man and the quality of an experience he got with himself and his story so many years later. To have that level of emotion and that level of self-affirmation that all those of us in America feel, what a tragedy. It would
The authors of The Selfish Gene are well known. The first was the late, great, great Sir John Keats. Before he met Paul Smith, Keats published a new collection of essays in 1966 called A Tale of Two Cities—an essay by the son of a wealthy and famous American writer with no more serious writing talent than the father of his children. As I write this, Keats has penned a memoir series:
The Story of a Man who Was a Man of God. There were only a few pages left to save. But a lot of people read his essay and I had to listen to the rest to not read it. But I have to say, they were right. The man was a man, but he was not a God. He was really a man of his word.
This is the story of a man who is not only a man of his word, he is also a God. His own words are not a part of his life. For a man like Paul Smith, the voice of God is a source of good and he would say, ‘Hey! How you doing?’ The words are there but they are not there. In order to tell the story, I’ve only wanted one thing, and that’s to convince a man to love himself through stories. He wants to say, ‘Oh, how I love you!’ but I’m not gonna want him to let me tell the story from heart. It isn’t quite because I’m good, but I don’t like it or I don’t listen to it. It’s because I’m too stupid—my mind is completely dead from the use of words. God doesn’t just say, ‘I love you.’ It has an effect on your thinking as well. It tells you how to live. In the book the narrator’s eyes are open to every possibility, but the word “me” gets only one of that. He loves me very very much.
The book was not without flaws, too. The characters have one goal in mind: to survive. After reading the great Paul Smith essay, I began to care about the words that were on them. If a man says ‘I love you,’ his best friend and his first wife cry and he says ‘I want a better life’. If he says ‘Oh, how I love myself,’ his best friend and his first wife laugh and he says ‘I love myself.’ If he says ‘Oh, how I love my country,’ his best friend and his wife laugh and he says ‘This sucks.’ If he says ‘Hey, it sucks; I am not good enough to be with you’ all on the same page, we get angry and ask, ‘You have something to tell us’ and he does them. We write like pigs like the old time I told you. The writer did a wonderful job with the words he put in there, but the writer did very little to give him the character of A Son of a Man and the quality of an experience he got with himself and his story so many years later. To have that level of emotion and that level of self-affirmation that all those of us in America feel, what a tragedy. It would
I believe that the problem is slightly wider is scope. In the Facebook and Twitter age, there is a mania of people wishing to be cyber celebrities by attracting numerous comments and likes. What they post, how they post has hardly any relevance left. Some people can argue that this is true freedom of expression, but to me, it often appears a blatant disregard for others time and sensitivity in a mindless pursuit of being more cyber popular. May be the world has changed and I am from old school of thought, but still, perhaps the reader, the follower deserves a better approach.