I found it funny that the evil, mustachioed, get–your–post–in–on–time-or–we’ll– tie–you–to-the-tracks Bitter Quill Powers that Be (else wise known as “Mike”) described me as a “new-media writer” in the introduction to last week’s post. It’s not that the bulk of the writing I do for public consumption these days doesn’t fit that bill — it certainly does — it’s just that in describing the writing I do I’m more apt to use the less formal moniker, “blogger”, because I find the term “new-media” particularly silly (ED: Oi!). There’s nothing “new” about writing. It may not be as old as cave painting or sex or spoken word or dancing, but as methods of communication go, it’s been around a good long while.

What new media blogging has done for writers is create a more egalitarian market in which to flog our wordy-wares. No longer do we need to tie up our lovingly double-spaced bundle of words and count on an editor to recognize our genius. With a push of a button we can take our ground-breaking tales directly to the public at large. And, with additional commenting tools at our (I was going to say “ink-stained” – but that doesn’t really apply in this case…but “keyboard calloused” doesn’t really have the same aesthetic lyricism to it, does it?) fingertips, we can get instant feedback from our audience, so we can hone and tailor or work and give them exactly what they want – and as often as they want it.

Frankly, it feels a bit like cheating to me. When you fantasize about you future writing career (wasting time which, I should like to point out, would have been better spent actually writing), do you dream about your photo on a dustjacket, attending book signings armed with a heavy pen and tweed blazer with leather elbow pads, of discovering your characters either changed someone’s life or featured heavily in their startlingly risqué fanfic (perhaps both), or about spending your time worrying about bloghits and site visitors and troll bashing and your Google Page Rank? Perhaps I’m a short-sighted luddite, unable to grasp that new-media is the wave of the future, or maybe I just give more emotional weight to words I can actually hold in my hand… but I, for one, feel as though I can’t count myself as successful until that byline is printed on paper.

Don’t mistake me – I’m not disparaging blogging, far from it. If anything, I’m a little overly fond of it, as the surfers of the web can no doubt attest. Blogging has allowed me to make personal and professional connections, as well as affording me many other opportunities I might not have otherwise had. Beyond all that – it has given me a reason to write every day, even when the creative muses fell silent. And this enforced writing schedule has helped me hone my tools, keeping them sharp and at the ready.

Unfortunately, what it has also done is kept me meek and lazy. Blogging is now my excuse for avoiding almost everything, including (and most distressingly) my writing projects. Yes, I know that deadline for that essay submission has come and gone, but I absolutely had to find silly things to link to. I can’t rescue that character I’ve left stranded on a mountain over a year ago with no food but her own worn cloak, because I’ve been too busy nattering on about whatever asinine idea has popped into my head today. There are days when I can’t even get blog posts completed on time because I’m too busy blogging about something else. In what other publishing business can one believably say to their editor, “Sorry I was late on this week’s article, Ed., but I was just too caught up in my own breasts.” I venture to say not many, or at least not many that we’d let our mothers read.

Come to think of it, why submit my work to the established publishing houses at al , and risk having a professional tell me my hours of dustjacket daydreaming were for naught, when I can instead publish randomly and unedited on my own and reap the laurels from my friends and family? Sure, their praise may be polite and empty, and I could even earn the disdain of random commenter — but, as they aren’t industry professionals, I can shrug it off. My ego is that fickle. Why not be happy with the audience I have, and continue to publish about what I want, when I want, and how I want, rather than risk censorship, or worse, rejection and reprisal? I’ll tell you why: Because when it comes to writing, risking our egos and reputations is important. It challenges our work and our ideas, setting the bars for us to match and (hopefully) overcome; facing these challenges can only help to make us stronger — and with any luck, more marketable. How can we ever hope to imbue our characters lives with fear and hope and bravery if we’re not willing, with our work, to risk the same?

Another gift blogging has given to me is a more focused sense of action based on personal responsibility, because if you tell the whole web-enabled world that you’re going to do something, you soon discover a more deeply intense pressure to follow-through. So I say to you, people of the world, that I intend to begin submitting things to print sources this year instead of sticking every insane idea I have online. I should count myself very pleased if, in twelve months time, I find myself with a thick stack of rejection notices, and a small pile of one or two journals with my stories or essays inside. If being married couldn’t protect me infinitely from romantic rejection, it’s ridiculous to assume that blogging with provide me with a permanent sheild from having my writing rejected. I survived divorce… surely I can take if the Stet Mark Set don’t take an immediate liking to me. I mean, it has to be easier than dating.