Blogging for Sanity

I don't really remember why I started this blog. I guess it had to do with the fact that everybody was doing it and blogging had somehow begun to seem necessary. It didn't matter that I had nothing of value to say - blogging is just what people do, you know? Well, it should be obvious from the lack of posts over the past, what, year? that I really don't have much to say. Not that anyone else would be interested in, anyway.

And yet, here I am. I really need to write, and I need to stop worrying about whether anybody is interested or even reads what I write. I need to express myself so that I don't lose the ability to express myself.

I used to pride myself on my vocabulary, and on my ability to communicate clearly. Well, use it or lose it - I've noticed over the years that I'm slipping with regards to my communications skills. I don't read as much as I used to. I hardly write at all, except for quick emails or text messages. My eloquence is fading. Never mind that concise, thoughtful communication in our society is going the way of the steam locomotive; it's still important to me to be able to express a thought that is clear, creative, to-the-point and worth the time spent committing it to paper (well, to pixels at least - my ability to actually write anything by hand is almost completely gone, perhaps irretrievably so).

It doesn't help that I work for someone who, in addition to his numerous other shortcomings, believes himself to be a far better communicator than he really is. There was a time when my employers would ask me to write things for them and praise me for my impressive vocabulary, my easy way with difficult concepts, my friendly, conversational tone. When I started my current job six years ago I was stunned when my boss told me that I needed to work on my communications skills, and I took the comment very personally. I've had a long time to process this comment, and I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that it's not me, it's him. I think that, deep down, my boss is just a frustrated editor, unable to write anything himself, but equally unable to let others' work go untouched. He will regularly ask me to write something, then proceed to completely vivisect it as I stand watching. The end result is never better than my first draft and is, more often than not, less clear, longer and awkwardly disjointed. Still, he just can't leave anything alone.

Constantly having my writing second-guessed has quashed any confidence I had in my abilities. I don't try as hard to come up with a clever turn of phrase or succinct description., since I know it's going to get butchered anyway. I'd love to have the time and dedication to write creatively, for my own purposes, but the stress of my job and of day to day life just don't leave me with enough energy be creative. Yes, it's sad, but it is what it is. Someday perhaps I'll be able to finish my screenplay about shanghaied sailors in 1890s Portland, or flesh out my idea for an operetta based on the music of The Decemberists. Right now I just don't have it in me.

And so back to blogging. By sitting here, kvetching about the atrophy of my writing skills, I have actually used those old muscles, if only for a few minutes. If I were to do this a couple of times a week, I might forestall literary senility. I might be able to maintain just enough intellectual acuity to be able to do some serious writing someday when I have that kind of time and focus. If nothing else, at least at my next job I'll be able to write the way I used to.