06 October 2005

The Blog(u) 1: The Field of Blogs

Once upon a time, there was a little plink. Wide-eyed with the curiosity of the young, plink would spend hours at a time in the Field of Blogs. Blog blooms of all hues called out to plink to stop by and read. The very air was alive with the sound of ideas buzzing between blogflowers under the bright sunshine. Skipping and singing from blog to blog, plink would remember pMom's advice. 'Follow the ideas,' she would say.

Ducking and weaving through the swarms of gaily buzzing ideas, plink would pick one and chase it from blog to blog. Sometimes the ideas would sting, but pDad said that it was to be expected: ideas could not know that plink meant no harm. 'Dry your tears, plink,' he would say. 'Ideas can hurt, but they are beautiful. Follow them to see where they lead you.'

In that gaily-coloured field of blogs, there was much to learn. And so, following ideas from bloom to bloom, plink learned much and was content.

One bright, sunny day just like any other in that field of blogs, plink started to wonder. 'Blogs are beautiful and ideas so nice. I wonder if I might raise a good blogfield too.'

'Probably not.'

plink started in surprise. Where there had been a swarm of ideas only a moment before, stood a grey-faced impossibility: yet another plink. Struck dumb with confusion, plink was unable to move as the figure approached.

'I am Doubt,' the other plink supplied 'though I might not be. Were you thinking of planting a blog?'

'Yes,' replied plink, not knowing what else to say.

'Do you think this is wise?'

But before plink could answer, another voice spoke, 'What will your friends think?'

plink spun around, dumbstruck at the appearance of yet another self.

'Fear,' it said, mockingly inclining its head in greeting. 'Do you know of the ones called Trolls?' came its malicious inquiry. 'They can be awfully inconvenient.' Fear's smirk grew wider, 'I'd better warn you of Stalkers too. It is often harder to satisfy Stalkers than it is to fend off Trolls.'

'I can write,' plink insisted, 'I have something to say.'

'That may be too much or not enough.' Doubt sombrely wagged a disapproving finger. 'Allow me to introduce two other friends, Verbiage and Bombast.'

And four of them surrounded plink. 'Do you recognize us?' asked Bombast. 'We taught you how to write. Our hands guided yours and we are proud of what you have become.'

Verbiage stepped up to plink's left shoulder, 'You are yet my greatest work, for you write even as you speak. None have yet breached the solid wall of words that you build each time you write. Do your friends not stare uncomprehendingly when you start to speak?'

plink recoiled from them in horror as a chill wind started to blow across the field. There was scant warmth in the starkly lit scene as plink contemplated the four that stood there.

'We bear you no malice,' Fear came forward again. 'We are you. We have come to reclaim you.'

'But I want to blog.'

'You cannot.' came the quiet whisper.

'I don't need your permission!' plink started to shake violently.

'Why then, do you tremble so?' Doubt's eyes burned with cool disdain and plink squirmed under their harsh gaze for a moment. Then, unable to endure further, plink turned and fled.

In the cold sunlight, ideas continued about their work as the teary-eyed plink tore past. The swarm paused, watched the lonely, wailing figure leave the Field of Blogs, then carried on its work.


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