In the intro
to his self-published (on Lulu.com) collection of blog posts, The Wreck of the Henry Clay
, New Yorker contributor Caleb Crain
sums up nicely the anxieties shared by at least one other writer-with-blogging-addon about blogging, and, by extension, about self-publishing books. Which I may just do myself soon — a collection — because I CAN. Ellipses are mine.
I came to blogging … as a veteran of print…. [and so] came to blogging nervous about losing what footing I had there… The quandary: If I wanted to communicate an important discovery, shouldn’t I write it up formally, either for money (i.e., journalism) or prestige( scholarship)? If a discover wasn’t worth these rewards, was a casual communication of it worth risking my reputation, such as it was, for accuracy and deliberation?… To speculate beyond one’s area of expertise, based on no more than intuition and a few pieces of evidence, which happened to be new to oneself but not might be to specialists — wasn’t that a recipe for broadcasting one’s ignorance? And at the pit of my stomach, as I contemplated my efforts to make a living as a freelancer, lay another question: Would my editors continue to buy the cow if I was dispensing the milk for free on my blog?
This last question, Crain notes, turns out to be a good one.
Do check this out.