Ego & Id

Writing is not an art (any more).

Big statement. The reason I now believe this, is that the majority of people who do it (which seems to be the majority of people, if we accept that the gibberish pumped out on the web is writing) do not consider what they do to be in any way artistic. Some of them don’t even think of it as being particularly craft-like (crafty?).
By definition, very few artists are famous in their own lifetimes, & even fewer make money to live on. It’s only been during the last century or so that professional artists could occasionally make a comfortable living. Writers, in particular, led the charge in this respect, but many famous authors didn’t make much money until well after their writing prime. This made for a wonderful old age, albeit a slightly bitter one.

Now, people write & expect instant gratification. Yes, that’s the way of things these days, but there is a distinct belief that the act of writing itself (regardless of the worth of the content) will generate money (through advertising) ahead of interest or any lasting cultural effect. Thus, it isn’t art.

It is ego; pure & simple.

It is identity. It is standing on a lonely hilltop & shouting “Hey, world, it’s me!” & hoping that it’s not just the sheep who notice.

The content is as meaningless today as it will be tomorrow (including mine), or, if you like, as meaningful as last year’s. Instantaneous broadcasting of uncrafted thoughts has the shelf life of a rotten tomato.

Everybody writes to prove their own existence. Everybody then checks to see who reads them, or who could find them through a search engine, with the unsupported belief that the world actually does revolve around them & the proof is out there if only the right search term can be found. (I once worked on a search engine, & we were painfully aware that journalists judged the product by its ability to render their name.)
Can we, humanity, be so vain? Can communication, as a human activity, have fallen to such a low point that it is now effectively one way? Half the people are saying “look at me!” & the other half are saying “I saw him”. Nobody is actually listening (or reading). I have a sneaking suspicion that the grand sum of all knowledge in the human race is being surpassed daily by the grand sum of pointless communication flooding the internet.

As I vent my spleen in another audience-free sacrifice to the gods of the quill (apologies to Neil Gaiman), prostrate before the altar of the phosphor screen (technologies change, but metaphors change more slowly), I realise that I am no better. I knew that before I started writing this, but it’s a conclusion I must recognise before you all (perhaps ewe all).