Monday, November 3, 2008

More On Writing Versus Blogging

One of the blogs I read often is Cerno's and I often talk about it, about how his writing inspires me and makes my mind go off in tangents, frequently resulting in a post or two.

His recent scribble about how he writes and thinks of things to write was yet another one of these. It got me thinking.

The thing is, as I've started to I suppose fall in love with the written word, which is the appropriate but frankly a bit too poncey for my liking, way of putting it, I find an increasing fondness in writing purely for myself. I'm lucky in that I've got my journal and add pages and words to it on a frequent basis, I'm not faced with a new desire that requires me to get a ball rolling each time the urge to write something grabs me.

But it's like that tree in the forest and the question of whether it makes a noise if it falls down. If I write bits and pieces in a journal and said journal is only ever intended for my own eyes, what exactly is it? Is it writing? If it fell on someone's head in the forest would anyone hear it?

A blog post like this is read by some people. In the back, or middle if I'm honest, of my mind, as I write these very words, I'm aware of you, the reader. I'm conscious of what your reaction might be to this post. Will it make you think or will you dismiss it and move on to a post about sex?

It's similar to something that plays on my mind in music too. I'm a firm believer that playing and learning an instrument is all well and good but one must play with other people. In a band, an orchestra or even solo in front of an audience it doesn't matter, but there must be more than just playing in a bedroom.

But I enjoy playing to myself too. Whenever I practice drums, which is often but not often enough, I stick on my headphones and get in the zone. I'll work on purely self indulgent things, solos and little seedlings of ideas that I have that may turn into fundamental building blocks of my playing in the future or might get thrown out with the rubbish. The trick for me is to figure out which is which.

As my love (uuurgh) for the written word grows I find that it's the scrawls in my journal that represent the truest and most honest me. There's not so much of that great wit I'm renowned for in my journal either, which is probably unsurprising. I guess Eddie Murphy doesn't wander around his house alone and naked cracking jokes to himself, even in the days when he was funny. Not that I write my blog naked. Or my journal for that matter.

Lately I've been looking at the details about the Galle Literary Festival with eyes and feelings that I've only had for things like drum magazines and Sri Lankan restaurants before. This is a sure sign that I'm beginning to enjoy writing in a way that can't be good for me. It would be alright if I'd got the bug for swimming or jogging, but writing isn't going to help me to look good. Though I sometimes get a tinge of cramp in my right wrist when I've written in my journal a lot.

I have a good friend who is quite at ease meeting Prime Ministers and Queens, Presidents and Sri Lankan Mothers. The concept of meeting these superior people doesn't phase her at all. I'm different though. The first time I met Java Jones I was drooling quite a bit and shaking with excitement. Java acted normally and put me at ease but it wasn't easy for me.

I've met many very famous drummers and it's an ongoing struggle for me to speak normally and not hyperventilate, dribble and spit as I talk. Looking at the GLF website I lick my lips at the prospect of chatting with Aravind Adiga, of asking him where he got the idea to write his book in the way it's written. I have to say that my jury is out, I'm not sure if I loved or hated the book. It's one of the two though. My mind convinces me that I'll meet these authors and chat happily and gaily about their influences and motivations, their ambitions and regrets. But I know that the reality will be me staring at them with huge big eyes and being too excited to get a word out.

While I'm thinking aloud does anyone know if there'll be any blogging related workshops or seminars at the GLF? I'd love to find out before I book my ticket and choose which pants to bring.

I sometimes go off on a daydream and think that my journals might get discovered in hundreds of years' time. By then they'd be the journals of a chap who was a prize winning author, not just plain old RD, the blogger. I probably would have won the Odel Booker prize several times and my first book "Colombo Revealed" would have been made into a film that had starred people like Brad Pitt and Nimmi Harasgama.

So there you have it, just some emptying of thoughts really. It's an unusual post as it's one I normally would have written in my journal.

Without the slightly witty bits of course.

PS - I lied about the pants, I already know which ones I'll bring.

2 comments:

Java Jones said...

Hey RD, you didn't tell the folk that you "..was drooling quite a bit and shaking with excitement" over the chick you were with and it had nothing to do with Java, lest they misunderstand!

Rhythmic Diaspora said...

Java - No it was definitely because of the excitement of meeting you!