After spewing out a short novel marauding as a comment (to someone else's Facebook post), I must share my additional thoughts about the wordiness of it all.
"I am part of a dying breed of wordy folks..."
... it began, and it just kept going on into the most infinite reaches of my sanity,
exhaustion, and mind for the evening.
If you know me well, you must know this to be true. I am part of this dying breed of writers, of excessively wordy folk. Emails, text messages, comments posted on social media... truly, this is my nature and I cannot help it. I wrote many things once... (long ago, in a land far-far away, when the only people that had their own computers were rich white people... and absolutely no one had their own personal computers in their pockets, desperately in need of someone else's charger.) Sometimes I even still write things (like in these long, forgotten times...) I had a blog before they were called such silly names -- back then, they were merely "online journals", much like a regular BOUND physical journal or diary (it's kind of like a "book", we still have a few of those lying around do we not?), also these old-fashioned means of communication we once called "letters" that came slowly over long distances between friends, family, or people you met while on vacation. It took a long time to get where they were going, traveling through something called "the mail" (which we now use primarily to receive goods one purchases in online retail stores.) I painstakingly and carefully penned many essays, articles, a few decent short stories (still have one in the works yet, but it appears then again that it's plot is unfinished) and even had one of my creative writing attempts actually be selected for something so special, it made my college education a few thousand dollars cheaper. One year, anyway. (I later made that story into a movie, so no one ever has to actually read it, it promptly was released to video/DVD, but as they usually are it's just NOTHING like the "book." I have one remaining pen-pal, and we've been telling our stories to one another back and forth for years now. (Jethro Rebollar ! It is way overdue my turn, but I want you to know there is a half-finished letter for you right now in my possession/sight!) We accept, maybe even sometimes use but still kind of hate the abbreviations the internet somehow made "okay" in our complex language... (...the "U"s, the "R"s, the numbers, the piss poor grammar, nonexistent spelling skills, etc.) We love words, we love weaving that delicate language into something a little bit more beautiful than what our eyes and brains experience on a daily basis. We may not have a lot of different or incredibly important things to say, but damn if we won't take our time saying it exactly how we feel it should be expressed. And it will look damn fine doing so. And maybe... just maybe, a few of you out there will enjoy reading it all.
So here's to the story, the novel, the letter writers out there still providing that lengthy commentary in and out of the internet's available avenues... the ones that have reluctantly morphed into "bloggers", the real diehard and nouveau bloggers too (more words than pictures please, and recipes don't count), especially the ones that aren't quite sure a lot of the time exactly what they are writing about... and who they are writing to... and definitely often if anyone is reading any of this at all. The super-readers (who write by default) that are admittedly in love with words, that tend to write a little too much by default, especially those who sometimes do so in slightly inappropriate places. Here's to you, if you're still out there that is, and those like you, and definitely those who made it this far. Finally, here's to me, this, words in general and this tired but determined brain explosion of the extra, ultra, superbly wordy people still out there, and all of those friends and family that actually make it to the bottom of the page. Thank YOU. And goodnight.
