To make art, there has to be a purpose for it, an intention that makes you throw the bucket down the stairs. Otherwise is just senseless violence against either the bucket or the stairs. That is also why I love to read Steve Buttry's diary. He is a professional journalist, who also has the tendency to read everything he writes just to doublecheck his Craig's list. That kind of a journalism is dying, because everywhere, where journalists are preserved as the national heroes of the truth (or money, because in every country there is also approved the commentary against the mainstream journalism), an and journalists are to be expected to bulletwrite, bulletread, doublebullet-timeread, and go back in time again and read their to-be articles before they are already released. Common saying is that internet is killing journalism.
I know there is some kind of a crisis going on in publishing houses. And it's not because there aren't good journalists in the world. It's because publishers don't get enough money to pay for journalists who can make money for publishers. The crisis is real. Specially when most papers do a lot of their income by advertising. But for some reason the big game is in the daily papers, even though there are journalists in papers which come out only once a month or so, and their journalists are being paid about the same, unless they work for BBC or FOX NEWS. Latter being, of course, the dream job of a playwright.
Coming back to Buttry. He is a professional, who also does his blog because of, as I believe, enthusiasm (and to make a brand of himself, but that's what bloggers do) for good, written English, which is a skill I am trying to (still) learn.
My points is that, even when you're an amateur blogger, you can always do better than just throwing your keyboard down the stairs when you actually have something to say about blogging.
I don't. Read Steve Buttry.