Rab McNeil
Blog off 21 December 2009 Cautious, arguably sensible people have resisted the temptation. It puts one in the public sphere, where I would not urge anyone to venture. Look at politicians and journalists. That’s the world we inhabit, and everybody hates us. If we could sing like Susan Boyle, perhaps some citizens would love us. But, by and large, we can’t and they don’t and, in my view, it’s best to stay at home and bolt the door. You say: “But Mr Robert, surely blogging is only exposing yourself virtually? It matters not what the mob think. They cannot get at you.” That is a good point, well made. Indeed, the same thing could be said of columns. Generally speaking, I go into character to write mine and try to avoid meeting readers as, inevitably, in reality they find me a mumbling dullard with nothing interesting to say. You respond: “But that’s the impression I got from your columns.” I shall ignore that remark. Funnily enough, I never wanted to be a columnist and much preferred being an anonymous news hack. But market economics dictate that researching, interviewing, probing and writing difficult and complex news items is far less lucrative than bending your heid over the keyboard and shaking loose the contents. Being chronically introverted, I hate seeing my picture in the paper, particularly as they always select ones that make you look peculiar. But I fear most people would love to be “up there”, the name if not in lights at least in inky print. Now, the blogosphere allows you to bung yourself up there, in print if not in ink. The most egotistical man I’ve ever met almost soaked his undergarments in excitement when blogging started and got so manic he had about four on the go at once. “Look at me!” he cried. I think you want to avoid that sort of thing. The occasional dignified column is, of course, entirely different. And while I’ve never yet written one of these, it remains an aspiration. Political blogging is obviously a risky business, as political journalism is essentially textual analysis, and you never know who’ll be combing your copy for evidence of gaffes, u-turns and unguarded libel. Some chaps – and it’s mostly males who indulge – have got into hot water with this sort of thing recently and, while I’ve been far too busy to follow the details, I know that opprobrium, manufactured hysteria and other commonplaces of Scottish political discourse follow from unguarded gabbing on the web. God knows, it’s bad enough in print. Working for daily newspapers, I can tell you that some of the people “out there” are unbelievable. It’s a general rule of journalism that, whenever you write a column that garners you handshakes, praise and messages of appreciation (all right, I’m going back around seven years here), the only thing that appears in the letters page is a complaint. It’s an iron law and one you have to experience, because it cannot be explained rationally. But now things have become infinitely more confused, thanks to the weird phenomenon by which, for the first time in industrial history, a business offers you its product with one hand and asks for, say, 80p, while at the same time, with the other hand, it gives the thing away free. I speak, of course, about newspapers and the internet, a combination that must be bracketed under “industrial comedy”. The first time one of my political sketches appeared on the internet, the cyber-psychos thought it was the straight political report. The first two commenters believed my traditional reference to the “presiding orifice” ( for “presiding officer”; did you see what I did there?) was a mistake, and informed everyone that they’d captured the page before it was corrected. Unbelievable. There were about 600 comments, and it quickly became clear that these were not “quality” newspaper readers. Clearly, they’d never read a sketch before. Suddenly, the audience we were writing for had changed overnight. Their hatred of journalists, their horrible spelling, and their inferior supremacism marked them out as bubbles of froth collectively floating atop a massive discharge of sewage. I’ve never read them since. Here’s a second lunatic dichotomy: if you want to write a letter to the print edition of a newspaper, they’ll check your name and address in the phone book or, failing that, the electoral roll (they may even phone you up, particularly if they want to change your letter to make it unreadable in the traditional manner). On the other hand, they also invite you to make up a nickname and send in your psychotic hate mail online. Weird. I know the fingers of many of you are hovering over the keyboard, as you find yourself tempted to join the blogosphere. Fair enough. You’ve a right to be heard. You may even have something to say. But, if it’s attention you seek, beware what you wish for. No matter how loveable you are, you’ll make enemies, and your skin must needs be of leather. Related articles: Politics and principles 3 September 2010 Hello voters 25 June 2010 Off the menu 11 June 2010 Life but not as we know it 28 May 2010 Magnetic result 17 May 2010 See all articles in this category Submit a comment |
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