I Get It

It's rare that I finish any article to its completion anymore. In fact, I'll often page down to see how long something is before I even start reading. It's not that I don't want to know, but that so many news items these days begin with the latest and greatest, then spend a lot of time rehashing what was already known, and then bury something else new deep in the conclusion, if at all. The only new bit might have been something you could take right from the headline.

I find this to be true even in first-person memoir (cough: blog posts) too. I just gave up on one that was so predictable, I don't think I made it more than a third of the way through, but I only clicked on it at all because a more sentimental blogger friend of mine waxed on about it. I tried, but I couldn't read on.

I think I stopped writing myself because of feeling this way. I've often felt that all of the words have already been said, and that if I couldn't compel myself to read them, who used to love words so much, then who would read? The thinking of titles, the finding of images, the endless self-promotion? Over it all.

And yet, I'm back here writing again. I get it. I am totally part of the problem.