Yeah, I know. Dated two months ago. I was... erm, washing my hair. Although I can't seem to get the link Van provides to work, his entry makes an interesting point.

To paraphrase Truman Capote, this isn't writing, it's whining. Bummer.

I can recognise myself in his portayal of Ms. Journal. That was me, two years ago. Maybe it still is. Although I've now mostly managed to keep the Biographers purely tongue in cheek, I have to admit that they didn't start out that way. Even when I was joking about them, it was kind of like, "No! Of course this is not how I really feel. Just look at the ludicrous extremes to which I go! This must be Satire!" The lady doth protest too much, is the catch phrase I'm looking for. (Or maybe it's "Show me the money!" I tend to get those two confused.)

What I'm trying to say is that I believed, at least a little, that my journal would someday be read and admired by thousands. But because I knew it was stupid to believe at all, I pretended I really beleived. That way, I could later pretend it was all a joke.

Keep in mind that the Biographers, as I originally concieved them, were going to be reading my paper journal. 50 or 100 years after I die, some scholar would be going through some dusty books in an attic, and find me. He or she would love me, and posthumously give me the attention I craved. (Wha? Jeez. That really is insane. How come I never realized it? That's bordering on schizophrenic, fer chrissakes. What the hell was I thinking?? )

From this admittedly deranged perspective, the possibility of immediate ego gratification in the form of an online journal is pretty damn appealing. For the first time, someone could really read this. It hardly sounds delusional at all.

But Mr. Van's argument, and apparently the argument of the article he links to, is that an online audience isn't really the point either.

According to Van, when people say they want to be a writer, they don't mean "one who writes." They mean "Published Writer." A lot of people who claim they are just starting with a journal, in order to practice writing before hitting The Big Time, never get beyond the journal. They stagnate, and sometimes even write worse. They become so wrapped up in the ego boost of having an audience that they forget their original goal was to be a Published Writer. Instead of turning out quality entries, they begin hurriedly writing whatever comes to mind, because they know their audience will still read it.

(I have a lot of arguments here. And then I have counter arguments to my own arguments. I'm getting all confused now. I agree with some of Van's logic, but not all of it. Let me go back and break it all down)

When people say they want to be a writer, they don't mean "one who writes." They mean "Published Writer." Yup. Well, mostly. Let's come back to this one.

A lot of people who claim they are just starting with a journal, in order to practice writing before hitting The Big Time, never get beyond the journal. This is true. But maybe it's not a bad thing. There really aren't that many published authors each year. No, think about it. Think about the vast number of manuscripts that are rejected every month. The online journal is a way for all the less-talented people to have their chance to feel like a Writer. Maybe some of these people could have been published, but I'm betting a lot of them wouldn't be.

(If you're offended by that paragraph, then go out and get yourself published. Maybe you really are one of the good ones. I sincerely wish you all the luck in the world.)

There are also some people for whom a journal really is enough. I think I no longer beleive I will be a published writer. ("Ooh! Irony!" say the Biographers...) I don't really think I'm good enough, and I know I don't have the discipline to become better. But I now can pretend I have an audience. Maybe that's enough. (Damn you, Dave Van! Here I am, trying to put forth a reasonable rationalization against your argument, but I'm feeling all guilty now. "Writer" is pretty much the only thing I ever wanted to be, and just when I've almost managed to convince myself that I'm kind of doing it, here you are with a truth I just can't ignore. Damn you! Damn you, I say!)

They stagnate, and sometimes even write worse. OK. This one I can handle. Stagnation is bad! ("I oppose all bad things....") I will not stagnate. I will try desperately not to stagnate. I'll only stagnate a little, you know, when the situation warrants it, or when I'm having a bad hair day. Um, moving onward.

They become so wrapped up in the ego boost of having an audience that they forget their original goal was to be a Published Writer. OK. But what if my original goal was merely to be someone who writes a journal entry every day? I know I'm no writer. I'm a diarist. (Hello. My name is Ana, and I am a Diarist." "Hello, Ana!") See, this gets back to the point I made above. I've mostly decided that an online journal is all the effort I could reasonably expect myself to commit to. But there is this damn nagging little voice that keeps trying convince me otherwise. If I ever catch it in a dark alley, I will shoot it, strangle it, steal its lunch money, and then jump up and down on whatever pieces of it I can still find.

Instead of turning out quality entries, they begin hurriedly writing whatever comes to mind, because they know their audience will still read it. Yeah, I do this. Even worse, as far as I know, 99% of my audience is in my head. I don't even have loyal readers, and I'm already to the "babble for a while, that's good enough" stage.

Aaargh! Oh, how I hate you, Dave Van! Damn you for making me think! ("If you make people think they're thinking, they'll love you; but if you really make them think, they'll hate you."--Don Marquis)

OK, then. In the end, what I come away with from Van's entry is this:

There is a big difference between a writer and a diarist. There is a bigger, more important (to me, anyway) difference between a good diarist, and a lazy diarist. I have decided that I am a diarist. I really should make more of an effort to be a good one. Since I've set the less noble goal for myself, the least I can do is try to excell at it.

Oh, and when I thought of the title for this entry about 1/2 way through typing all of that, I promised you explosions. Here ya go.

Ka-blam! Pow! Fwoosh! Zing-Zammie!

Don't say I don't keep my promises. They may not be very good ones, but I try to fulfill them anyway.

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