When Reading Too Much is Not Good for the Reason for Being

Today I’ve read too much. I can barely think a straight line through. I want to lay down what this blog is for, what its full state is, in its current stage of evolution; I can’t do it here and now because I’ve read too much. I’m overloaded with words. So I need to approach that intention of writing from a slightly different angle, until I can think a little more clearly another day or three from here.

Reading around plenty of other writers’ blogs, I’m naively surprised by how often certain subject matters manifest themselves in articles. One such recurring theme is in the area of ‘to write well we must also read more’. I’m guilty of writing one of these myself, but at the time of its writing I hadn’t read as many blogs as I have now. How ironic! So, as a quick suggestion to those who are passing by here and who are in the early evolutions of their own ‘blog of a writer’ site, that subject area’s been covered too many times. We want original content to bring readers in, right?

I don’t know if what I’m about to write is an original notion: I haven’t seen it around on my travels, at least. It doesn’t matter because this is part of my current thinking on what this blog is evolving into: write it how you feel it, as it is, in the moment. Write about writing, as the writing about the writing comes: the writing life.

Today I’ve read too much. This is in opposition to the well-worn early-blog articles that are ‘to write well we must also read more’. Too much reading, in one go, can damage your own flow of ideas. Perhaps those ideas will come out later and as a direct result of the brain being stimulated today; or perhaps those ideas will be suppressed by the ideas of the writers I have read. It’s not straight-forward stuff I’ve been immersed in: Plato, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. I can’t get out of my head anything but nascent interpretations of justice, good and bad, capital, and the abolition of private property.

I don’t understand everything I’ve read today. I want to write some stories, short pieces, that have been building in me for days. Plato’s characterisation of Socrates is annoying me though; Marx and Engels’ tub-thumping is echoing around and disturbing the peace of my usual internal writing chamber.

I’ve read too much today, but at least something starts to form in amongst the echoes: this blog’s current point of evolution has some focus in this writing way of life.
 
 

Advertisements