To blog or not to blog



To blog, or not to blog; that is the question.

Whether ‘tis nobler to make readers suffer

These posts and arouse outrageous mention

In the comments section and cause trouble,

Or opposing, end this scrawl today, to write

No more; and by to write to say I end

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks

My posts are heir to, ‘tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d …

As you can see, I write a lot like Shakespeare, especially the parts that are his very own words, which I will put back later. I promise. I took them off an obscure website, so I don’t think anyone will notice. And no, I’m not plagiarizing; I’m merely borrowing. I learned that from my students, who often borrow entire essays.

In case you haven’t noticed (because you can rarely make it through my posts, and believe me I empathize: it’s hard for me as well), I have a lot in common with Shakespeare.

• He was born brilliant, and I was also born.

• We both had early lives.

• He managed to write 30+ plays (comedies, tragedies, and romances) and about 154 sonnets; I manage to write a now weekly blog.

• He liked hoop earrings, and I do too.

• He was a bard; I have been barred (due to excessive punning).

• He was from Avon; I have used Avon. *

• He was buried after his death, something I am planning myself. Not the death, the sequence of events: death, then burial.

Eerie, isn’t it? If I didn’t know better (and I rarely do), we could be twins, separated merely by talent, gender, legacy, facial hair, and about 450 years.

*Hi Miss Avon Representative: If you would like to give me free beauty products because I inadvertently advertised for you on my blog by using your company’s name, please feel free. I believe your products will make me look young and beautiful again. I also believe in unicorns. Just ring the bell.

If you are one of those I-can’t-look-away-from-this-train-wreck kind of reader and happen to have arrived here at the second ending of this post, both relieved and horrified, go here to see a 1960s “Ding Dong, Avon calling” commercial.


28 thoughts on “To blog or not to blog

  1. Omigosh you’re sooooo much funnier AND more tragic than Shakespeare. I ALWAYS fall asleep when he gets up in his podium….YOU keep me awake all night long with your thought-provoking stories.

  2. I thought that all blue stockings like us identified with Elizabeth Bennett. Of course,
    Shakespeare has the advantage over her of having actually lived. (Though some arrogant knaves might doubt the Bard and insist a ten- years’- dead lord could still write better than a non-U kid from the burbs.) Then, of course, there is the curious case of Erika Jong (remember her?) who had a poem published in The New Yorker years ago, in which she compared herself to John Keats. I remember it because of the severe trauma I received. Oh, this was not at all like Yearstruck’s amusing and jocular comparison of today’s post. No, this woman was seriously putting her work up there with Keats’ and saying, “Hey, look what we can do.”
    As I say to my husband every day, “The world has gone mad.”
    To which he replies, “You just noticed?”

    • I confess I have not read any of Erika Jong’s work. Perhaps she made the comparison when she was very young or maybe she truly believes she is a great writer. Only time will tell. I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking the world is more off-kilter than before. 🙂

  3. My Texas history posts don’t sound a bit like Shakespeare, but you’ve inspired me with Avon. I’ve never worn the stuff, but if it makes me look and smell like those skinny girls, I’m calling my Avon lady. You always inform.

    • Avon always had interesting perfume bottles. And the representatives always gave samples. Did you ever get any of those tiny lipstick tubes? I loved those when I was a young girl.

  4. “What’s in a blog? That which we call a rose,
    by any other name would smell as sweet.”

    In the spirit of your blog post, I’ve not only “borrowed” a bit from Shakespeare, but I’ve also taken the liberty of butchering it a bit … nothing too serious, of course. A misplaced word, here or there, for we all know that “there is no darkness, but ignorance”. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve always been a bit skeered of the dark. Alas, “what’s done can’t be undone,” so I might as well end with a bit of serious truth … “To do a great right (you must) do a little wrong.”

    Everything about your blog is all wrong, from beginning to end, which is why your adoring and appreciative readers keep coming back, again and again, faithfully and with enthusiasm. You do a little wrong, and it makes it all so right. Love the way you find new and interesting ways to play with words. It’s a bit like having access to a toy box that is filled to the brim with shiny toys, and we all get to sit and play.

    • You always encourage me, which may or may not be a good thing. 🙂 Shakespeare is nothing if not eminently quotable. It’s amazing how fresh and original he still sounds.

  5. The title wakens certain worries. I hope you do go on blogging. As for this post, I have a strong feeling that you’re satirizing some well known phenomenon in your country, but I have to admit that I didn’t understand where the arrows were aimed.

    • I’m not thinking of giving up blogging, in spite of causing consternation to those who read the blog. I wish I could tell you that I was aiming at something with this post, but alas, I was not.

      • Thank you for your answer. As it happened, your post reminded me of that post modern longing for stardom, to be excellent, to be a celebrity… to be an American idol… But it is so important to see every phenomenon… especially those timeless giants like Shakespeare, within their context. Within every group, there are those few that excel… sometimes because of a natural gift, and sometimes because of a dedication or resolve that is part of their own unique personality. And those of us who are in the middle of the heard… who are inspired by their excellence, have something to offer too… something that brings happiness or understanding, or drama to our friends. Each of us contributes, even when we’re not the best. In your case, speaking just for myself, I felt that I had found a rare treasure when I came across your blog, and you delight me often with your blog, sometimes touching me where others fear to go.

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