I’ve been thinking about writing and wondering why people write. The amount of text that gets pushed to the Internet each day has got to be astounding. I found a statistic here that said there were 759 million websites on the web in 2013. I don’t think the brain can or should think about how many words that is.
But I was thinking about what that means for humanity. My non-religious, pseudo-spiritual brain often imagines that there’s a magic to the world. I thought about all of the words that people spew out to computer screens and pieces of paper. What if those words, by virtue of coming into being, did things? What if every short story spawned a new universe? Or are all of these words just empty?
Does it matter that I contribute to the information clutter? They use physical devices to store the data that is my words. I’m burning fossil fuels to do this. Am I hurting anyone?
It sounds like I’m trying to weasel out of trying to be a writer doesn’t it? I shouldn’t write because I’m destroying the planet. What I should be doing is feeding the homeless. But here I am at 5:45 am writing a blog post and feeling pretty good about myself for doing it. I could just write by hand in a lovely leather-bound journal. If I did, I would end of digitizing it.
And here I go attaching another piece of my digital art to a blog post because I like to clutter in that way too.