A few days ago I did a vanity search on my oldest handle, found by oldest blog and read my oldest posts. I read, and read, and read. Then I felt a pang of pain. What I wrote back then was purposeful prose. It had meaning. It had a style. It had flashes of brilliance, moments of idiocy and elegance in the choice of words. It wasn't the best, but it had a unique personality that begged the reader to read on. I felt bad because I no longer wrote that way. Come to think of it, I no longer blog that much. It felt bad to realize that I may have lost something special.

That thought has kept me awake the last 2 nights. I used to write thoughtful, purposeful prose. I used to rush to a computer when a sudden trail of thought hit me and an urge to write it down was eagerly gnawing at me. I turned to blogging because it was easier than writing it all in paper. It was also a lot more practical than Doogie Howser's diary because blogs published themselves. I turned to blogging because there was a community around it, fellow bloggers who either liked or disliked your work. Who either linked to you or criticized you. Who commented with their dissent or encouragement. Now I find the provoking ideas rare and few in between. I find the bloggers, whose blogs I used to blog-hop to, have moved on to twitter and facebook. I too have moved on to twitter and facebook. They are easier to use, require less time to maintain. I have too many things to do all at once. They suit my ever shortening attention span.

As I spend more time on twitter and facebook, I've lost something. I have lost the patience it takes to write a thoughtful, meaningful, purposeful post; something longer than 140 characters with words that provoke minds to subtle agreement or violent objection.

My words, I need them back. I must have them back. Every writer struggles to find the right words to best say what they feel, think and experience. I have lost my words and I want them back.