I have been around the blogging block a few more times than I would care to say, and every time I try to convince myself that I need to try again, the question reappears in my mind: Why? I have failed more than a few times before, what makes me think that this time will be a success? I have a terrible habit of quitting everything that I start, not limited to blogging alone. I just can’t keep myself motivated to keep things going.
But in the same way, when it comes to writing, I have the same problem with. When I want to write, be it poetry, fiction, or journaling, there is little I can do to keep myself from a computer keyboard.
However, before I dove head-first into poetry blogging again, I decided to go over a list of the pros and cons. Why do I want to do this? Why don’t I? And which one is more prominent in my mind, not just at the moment, but in the general span of my life? As I wrote the list down, the words flowed with more fervor than I have had the pleasure to feel in a long time. Slowly, that motivation crept back into my mind, clenching jaws on what I wanted and didn’t want.
All the same, I had the list to consider before I did any real planning or unplanning.
- I love poetry more than anything in the world. It is the one thing I have always known how to do. The only thing I have turned to consistently, no matter the situation. If there is any constant in my life, I am both sad and happy to say that it is scarce more than the written word.
- What’s more, I’m good at it. That is not to seem arrogant. It is just the truth. I have no fondness for people with an ego, but everyone has a talent. Some people have useful talents such as math, calculation, common sense, or singing. Alas, I have the talent of the written word. Perhaps not a useless talent, but it is a hard field to break into, all truth be told. I have never heard of a rich poet save for Shakespeare. The era of prose and poetry is long past.
- I will never lack for content. Anything can be turned into a poem. Something as seemingly insignificant as grass can be reappraised as the most important thing in the world, for however short a time. In fact, one of my favorite poems is Grass, by Carl Sandburg (you can click this link if you would like to read it: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grass/).
- This would be a wonderful chance to meet and greet fellow poets. When I was younger, all of my friends were poets, but as the years passed, everyone slowly stopped writing. There was always something else more important, always something else to do. And when my friends stopped writing, I stopped feeling welcome to show them what I had written.
- Where else would my poetry go? If my friends don’t listen, and I don’t show anyone else, I suppose the words would just fade away, to be found long after I die. Even then they would not have the significance that they have now. No archeologist thousands of years from now will pick up old pieces of notebook paper that I scrawled a few lines on and shout, “inspired! Take this to the museum immediately!” It’s not as if I want fame, I just don’t want my words to die when I do. On the internet, nothing ever seems to die.
- Using poetry, the blog will be that much more personal. There is only so much I can say in ordinary words before finally exposing too much of myself. Too much emotion, too much passion and this is just a diary that I have the nerve to post online as if someone cares. With poetry, I can say as much or as little as I want, and for all you know, the subject matter might have happened to my mother’s cousin’s step-sister’s neighbor’s kid.
- Complete, and utter anonymity. Now granted, yes, I have a picture posted. Anyone searching for me will probably find this. But the truth is, no one I know will search for me. Who is to know that I have a blog if I tell no one? I may end up telling my boyfriend should I judge the content well-written enough, but he is a different story entirely.
- Who in the world cares what I have to say? Out of all of the blogs in all of the blogosphere, why would anyone stop in to give a care to what has gone wrong or right in my life? Or my mother’s cousin’s step-sister’s neighbor’s kid’s life for that matter? I mean, it’s not as if I am hilarious. I don’t set out to make people laugh, or cry, or think. They are my own emotions, not intended to set forth anyone else’s. And I have the audacity to think that someone else should care? Why?
- I have so many other things I could and should be doing with this time. I’m moving out in a few weeks, I should be getting ready. I should be spending time with my friends before I have to give over my schedule to college. I should be studying for my finals, and taking care of my cat. I should write that book that I have been planning for almost two years. I don’t exactly have a ton of time.
- What happens if I get writer’s block? Well then what? Then I have to go through all of the usual tactics to get through it and those never work for me. Then I’m letting my readers down, and letting myself down.
- How am I to know that this is not an attempt to simply show off my lexicon? Okay, so I don’t really speak that way, throwing around words that half of the English-speaking population wouldn’t understand. I was just making a point. In fact, the only time I ever write like that is in fiction or poetry. Even this post is written in stream-of-consciousness form. But I have to wonder if, despite my distaste for arrogance in any nature, I am becoming the very trait that I hate most. What if I am just flaunting my vocabulary around? Sometimes, I think that is my greatest fear when I write—that I will come off arrogant and self-assured.
- After this, my life only gets busier. When this summer ends, I begin college. I won’t have the time that I have now or over the summer. For the next four years, I will be trapped into more homework than I can imagine, a part-time job, and a social life. I’m worried that I won’t have time to keep writing.
- Nothing I say or write will ever change any part of the world. So why does it matter if I write at all? Sure, it is a stress reliever for me, but is it worth going through all this hassle to keep myself at peace? Knowing the sort of person I am, I could write as much as I want and never be at peace. So who am I writing for? Myself? The future? My audience? I guess that’s a question I’ll have to answer at a later date.
- Once again: complete and utter anonymity. No one I know will read this, except perhaps someday the man I marry. What if I want someone to know? What if I deep down want people to see who I truly am, but my surface self is hiding everything? It’s not as if I’ll tell anyone of this blog, so I will continue to go completely off the radar. I guess in a way this is both a pro and a con.
I ran over the list a few dozen times in my mind, and I suppose you can guess which I finally decided outweighed the other. I mean, after all, you are on my poetry blog, reading all of the reasons I should and shouldn’t do this.
In the here and now, I think this will be a good thing for me. Perhaps it will teach me a sense of responsibility. But in retrospect? Well, I guess I’ll look back a year from now and decide that.