I have been blogging, on and off, for the past two decades. I have never been able to keep a regular momentum going, though, and I envy those persons who have had the focus and consistency to maintain an active and lively blog.
The age of blogging, of course, has come and gone. Online content creation has migrated from longform musings on Tumblr and Blogspot, to snippets of wit and flaming on Twitter, to the cacophony of shortform videos that make up the vanguard of today’s social media. For a reader like myself, however, there is a satisfaction in engaging with ideas and exposition, that cannot be quenched by the fast-food nature of contemporary content.
My recent reading of Borges’ Fictions has reminded me that short stories, when wielded by a maestro, can become a powerful medium to explore ideas that encompass dizzying multitudes. An imaginary encyclopedia about an imaginary planet that makes up the imaginary literature of an imaginary Central Asian nation? A fable about a man who can never forget anything? A short story about betrayal and identity and regret? All these things can come alive, from the sheer combination of letters to conjure up worlds imagined and unimaginable.
Another recent inspiration has been the 200 Words About Culture blog on Substack. It doesn’t – and shouldn’t – take much to put your thoughts out into the world: to amuse, to entertain, to educate, or perhaps merely to record the passing of our limited days on this earth.
And what is stopping me from writing? Nothing much other than the gnawing – and yet overpowering – sense of “who would care about what I have to say?” I have been sitting with this for some time now, until I realized: I should care. And that should be enough.