Why Bother?

                                                            Why Bother?

                                                       by Marco M. Pardi

                                                      (but you knew that)

NOTE:  Where I normally would put a note inviting readers to comment and participate in discussion I will instead bow to the irony.

Not long ago I was conversing with Dianne about some topics and mentioned that, while I was greatly encouraged by the comments and participation – even if once, of several readers I was puzzled and dismayed that site statistics show so many hits, in so many countries, but it was always the same gracious few who commented.  Dianne suggested I write about this.  For a moment she and I were back at the lake, me listening to her wisdom.  Yet, I was uneasy with the suggestion, feeling that were I to do so it would come off as whining. And,  I did not want to appear ungrateful to the people who do comment, and for whom I have very great appreciation.

This dearth, or even complete absence of comments characterizes another site as well. Jamie routinely carries my posts on her website, with abundant space for comments.  The only comment I’ve ever seen on that site was one taking issue with my grammatical usage.  Not a word on the substance; only a pedantic “suggestion” on grammar.  I envisioned this contributor as a 911 operator, holding all emergency responders in abeyance until the caller clearly and correctly enunciated the emergency in Standard American English.  If I were on the range, that article would have been a “flier”, missing the target completely. I have a couple of times suggested to Jamie that her site space could be put to better use than posting my articles.  She sticks with me.

But looking at the distribution of countries in which readers are supposedly tapping in to this blog site, and the frequency with which they do so, I suddenly looked at the ratio of spam to valid comments.  Spam is shunted to a site sector the reading public does not see, allowing me to review it and see if bona fide comments somehow got sent there.  I was initially curious about some of the spam, being willing to grant linguistic leeway to non-English speakers. But I quickly noticed the very same text recurring from post to post.  It turns out the ratio of spam to comments is, for an average post, well over 100 to 1.  And, recently some of the spam appears to be Denial of Service attacks; huge entries of repetitive lines varying only by a word or two to soak up space allocations on the site.  Ironically, I elected to pay for greater site space, a choice these spammers might not have anticipated.  But, I’ve come away from this with the conclusion that a very large percentage of those “hits” are not readers at all; they are spammers connecting to the site to advertize their wares, trick people into responding to their “comments”, or jam a site with Denial of Service entries.  I no longer peruse the spam sector, I simply hit “empty spam”.

Even decades ago people suggested to me that I write my autobiography.  Some still do.  There are several good reasons why I will not.  But, I have tried writing fiction.  Two short stories I considered quite satisfying went to the recycler.  I liked them then. I still do.  I wrote, and printed, over 800 manuscript pages of a novel.  But, I have great difficulty just making up stuff, my fiction is a threadbare garment.  Submitting that manuscript to the agency censors would have been more than foolish, it would have been career suicide.   

I’ve known and been close to several (visual) artists, some quite famous, some not so.  At first I was surprised to discover so many absolutely heart stopping paintings pushed behind doors, exhibited in closets, or lined up against each other like so many posters in a cheap mall store.  When I asked, I was always given a vague “need to create” reason for their existence.  That hardly anyone ever saw them was of no real importance.

So, thinking of this, I reconsidered my reaction when, in speaking with my friend Mark about his blog he said he really did it for the sake of getting it out (of himself); whether anyone read it was not really important to him.  Okay, so Mark is a Cistercian monk.  Shouldn’t we expect humility and self abnegation from a monk?  In principle, in the abstract, sure.  But to see it in practice, wow.  Mark really pours himself into his posts, he spares himself no effort and no potential criticism.  He says, This is Me: take it or leave it.  And, he’s quite okay either way.  Now that is someone for whom the pistol shot of Pride is a flier; not a scratch on him.

But I’m not Mark and pretending to be like him would just be another fiction I’m lousy at writing.  Besides,  fiction is fiction; lies are cancer.  I’m bad at one and not attracted to the other.  I like seeing reactions in people.  While teaching college I dreaded nothing more than the mysterious class that surfaced occasionally, populated by glass eyes stuck atop meaty blobs.  Pouring myself into a presentation, seeing a hand shoot up, and being asked, “Will this be on the test?”  I did not wear neckties in my early teaching years.  That may account for why I’m here now.  Seeing students visualize an issue from a new perspective, as Mary did, regardless of whether it agreed with mine, was a great personal reward and helped to minimize the skepticism and profound loss of self esteem welling up behind the mask presented to the student body.  Having someone come to the office, as Rose often did,  and open herself up as she developed her perspectives and explored her world without fear of rejection can’t be balanced against a paycheck.  When those things don’t happen, the pay is no substitute.

So, is it pride that lies beneath the enjoyment of seeing people respond to one’s efforts?  If so, I’m guilty.  There may also be a bit of “If you build it they will come” thinking in there, too.  Funny I should fall for that.  My brother has a Captain license and two trans-oceanic yachts moored in Florida ports.  Hundreds of thousands of dollars.  They haven’t come.  I would be swinging from a yard arm if I had to sail on those things for any length of time.  So, as I think of my brother’s enthusiasm for sailing, and my enthusiasm for writing I can understand why so few people want to come along for the ride.

I do have more blogs “in me”.  Driving cross-country eight to ten hours a day without “entertainment” turned on does that.

Ah. The tide’s going out.