BRIC-A-BRAC: Running Commentary

My friend Jessica said she read the blog. I was very surprised. She's not a blog-reading type. If she hadn't said anything about it, I'd have never known. Which sent my brain down a winding path, which is how we get to this incongruous beginning.

The highest grossing movie last weekend was a remake of the killer-on-the-loose gem When a Stranger Calls. It will not be the last marginally-successful horror film to get another look. After all, only a few months ago, we got a new version of The Fog.

The fact that this movie made $29 million reflects in no way on its quality. In fact, it may prove to be a milestone in audience stupidity, since the story's only ingenious moment (namely, that the calls are coming from inside the house) is given away IN THE FREAKIN' COMMERCIALS! It's as if The Crying Game had been marketed with the tagline, "Dude looks like a lady." We have almost achieved complete brain disconnection at the movies.

So having established that When a Stranger Calls is a piece of mindless tripe, it still has to be galling for the makers of movies that aim higher to find that the crap horror flick blows them out of the water. Let's say you're Noah Baumbach, writer-director of The Squid and the Whale (a film I haven't seen, and may not, since stories about bitter divorces don't entrance me). Even if Noah knows in his heart of hearts that his movie is better than When a Stranger Calls in every possible respect, don't you think a small part of him would rather have the big box office?

Artists want to engage the public. Well, most of them do. I guess someone like J. D. Salinger doesn't. But most forms of entertainment arise out of an individual's needs to express themselves. Every painting, every book, every song, even When a Stranger Calls, is meant to elicit a response. Newton's law is the hope of every artist: that for each action, there is an equal and audible reaction.

Back when I began my novel, it was posted on The Greenroom website along with a hit count, a running meter of the number of times someone had accessed each article. My ongoing mystery usually tallied about 10 views for each chapter. Meanwhile, nearly every other article accumulated at least 30 or 40 hits, with the really popular ones approaching 100. That's a humbling thing. It makes a person think they're not being heard.

Now, when I set up this blog, I debated whether or not to allow for comments. After all, the whole idea behind the blog was to get back in the habit of writing, and to share random musings with whomever cared to listen. I didn't expect to begin a discussion with anyone, so comments seemed like they'd be an unnecessary feature. And yet, I liked the idea that if anyone did read my words, they might be moved to say something in reply. A writer's vanity, if you will.

My very first post got a piece of spam as a comment.

So I put the filter system on, and left well enough alone. And every now and then, I'll go back and scan my previous articles. And they all have one thing in common: no comment.

Do bloggers actually care if anyone reads their stuff? They must. Otherwise, why bother? I can't quite wrap my head around the concept of writing something, posting it on the internet to be accessed by anyone with a computer and the right amount of curiosity, and not expecting that someone else will read it. The odds are slim, maybe, but if there's even a chance something will get read, then it probably will.

Nixon's made a lot of satirists very happy when he talked about being supported by a "silent majority". After all, if you're deluded enough, you can interpret silence any way you like. But after a few dozen of these posts, I'm beginning to have a tiny bit of sympathy for the man. When you put yourself out for the world's judgment, you do hope against hope that they're going to like you. And even if the really loud people tell you how much they hate your guts, that still means (a) you're having an impact, and (b) there are still people out there you can't hear, and they might feel differently.

I'm always surprised when someone like Jessica says they read the blog. Because so much of this process takes place in a vacuum. It would seem that there are countless bloggers who treat the internet as a diary, a place to offer whatever random neuron firings come their way. But I have this ongoing need to believe there's an audience out there. Because otherwise, it's just me and a keyboard, talking to myself.

It means the calls are coming from inside the blog.