The web log would appear to be based on (1) Samuel Johnson's belief that ANY life, told in sufficient detail, would make an interesting book, and (2) W. Burrough's belief that writing is an intellectual virus that just spreads and spreads, filling all available nooks and crannies. I wrote poorly tonight, even for a first draft, where one deliberately lowers one's standards in order to get at least SOMEthing down on paper. There are so many catchphrases that "sum up" what writing is all about. Two that have been on my mind lately are: "Writing consists above all else in knowing what to leave out," and "We can only write well about those things we have not experienced." And then there's the question of civilization's "collective consciousness" into which one supposedly taps when writing a web log, you feel this mysterious pull, it's very distinct. One wishes to have untold legions of readers too, that's part of the game, as one plays with the adult toy of the personal computer.
IMPORTANT NOTE: For dinner tonight, baked (farm-bred) salmon fillets (which I greatly prefer to wild salmon), rice, asparagus, and a bottle of Sam Adams lager. For dessert, three jelly-filled, vanilla-coated soft cookies which have given me heartburn.
Time Stamp: 12:36 AM
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