With all this blogging going on, has writing gone to the dogs?

Well, that’s depressing. I have a blog on a site called WordPress, where every day there is a blurb along the lines of: “The best of 329,820 bloggers, 754,441 new posts, 467,400 comments, & 156,067,071 words posted today on WordPress.com.”

One hundred fifty-six million, sixty-seven thousand and seventy-one words. In one day. That might be more than Steven King has written in his lifetime. I said “might.”

What I derive from those numbers, and why it’s depressing, is that while everyone and their dog is writing a blog, who the hell is left to read them? Wait. “Everyone and their dog” is an exaggeration.

Some breeds are too stupid to write a coherent paragraph (basset hound, bulldog), while others often vie for spots on the New York Times bestseller list (poodle, border collie).

Few people realize that most of John Grisham’s books were ghostwritten by his Labrador retriever Sparkles.

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At any rate, with 156,067,071 words added every day on this one publishing platform, of which there are many, and with all the other words added to all the non-blog websites, of which there are millions, one wonders: If Shakespeare were alive today and asked on his blog, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” who would take note? Who would be moved? Gwendolyn the chow-chow can barely get through the comics page. Walmsley Momma’s Boy the whippet is too busy chasing rabbits and King Tut’s Baker’s Dozen the toy poodle is off on his own bloody book tour.

Dan Quayle, George H.W. Bush’s idiot savant vice-president, prophesied that “the future will be better tomorrow.”

I don’t know about better, but there sure is a lot more of it.

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