Via Prague

I received something of a jolt the other day, or rather, two. They came when I was checking up on the local news at the T-S website, which since leaving the paper four years ago, I've continued to do on a daily basis. The first jolt came when I noticed that one of the postings on my blog Via Prague had made 'Best of the Blogs,' and was featured on the editorial page. The second came when I read reader comments. 'I guess calling it a blog is an excuse for poor writing,' one (anonymous) reader observed. 'Worst thing I've read in this paper a long time. Painful actually.' Another reader, Jeff, concurred, noting it was 'surprisingly poorly written,' and noted I was a former T-S reporter.
I hate writing as a defensive exercise, especially in defense of 'poor writing,' of which there is no defense. And in defense of the blogosphere, trading barbs with people you're never likely to meet in person. Rather, I much prefer the Hemingway approach. Upon completion of his novel 'The Sun Also Rises,' in which several people recognized themselves in the characters and who subsequently threatened to kill the author, Hemingway announced that at such-and-such-a-time he would be hanging out having a drink at such-and-such-a-bar, and whoever wished to kill him were free to try to do so. No one showed, at least according to Hemingway. But -- not all of us are Hemingway.
Having said that, I'll admit I agree, at least this time, with my critics. That's why I was surprised the posting - 'Bombing is not the (only) solution' - made 'Best of the Blogs.' To be honest, I wasn't that hot on the piece either -- but wait. I've always regarded 'Via Prague' as merely a joural, a way to record passing thoughts, observations, mine as well as others. Here in Prague you can encounter fascinating people, fantastic liars and veteran bores from every corner of the globe. Most of the confidences you meet are unsought -- often you've already had a few pints of frothy Bohemian brew. Now and again you meet a certain remark, even made in passing, and for the hell of it throw it up into our new ether-eralized posterity.
The result -- viewed later -- can sometimes be profound, other times facile or cliche, and sometimes just nothing. Or it can be all of these things together, or you might later on find it useful in some other project. But that's the beauty of it. Since just what exactly a blog is, or is supposed to be, is still in its infancy, it continues to evolve. It's not hard-bound, like a daily newspaper, by certain obligations. Readers? Hell, what readers? Most of the hits I get are spam ads offering to enlarge my penis and sell me a college degree ('No Study Required!') So it's still hit and miss, but remember it's not as if anybody were paying us anything. The balance is, we're free to do what we want, with admittedly mixed results. I've already posted this damn piece three times, then thought about it, came back and added a new thought. But then, in my case, that's the advantage of being 9 time zones away from my base readership (not including the folks at Viagra, of course, another faithful 'reader').
I remember on the eve of leaving America for Europe, a lot of people patted me on the back reassuringly, sometimes enviously, and told me to make sure to 'interview' people 'over there' and 'get some new perspective on America,' some such truck. Naturally, or vainly, I agreed it was a good idea.
Mostly I've tried to include those I've talked to 'over here' in my efforts. Islam, my Bangladesh friend who was quoted at length in the unfortunate last posting, was actually cooking and leaning over my shoulder while I wrote his comments. Understand, his English isn't perfect, and I'll admit I quoted him literally, with all the mangled verb conjugations and prepositions, etc left intact. This was not to disparage him, but to try to capture the unique rhythm of his speech, which I think adds impact to his points. Think of Jim in 'Huckleberry Finn.' Imagine if Twain had corrected Jim's speech to sound like the Queen's English. The sense would have been the same literally, but the music of it would have been lost. I was trying to capture some of that same spirit in Islam. If I failed, I failed and take the blame.
Anyway, what I'm trying to say -- for those who speak only English -- is I didn't think much of the posting either. But think of Via Prague as an ongoing, extended dialogue, a story. And let's hope the next part will be better. If not, dear readers, I can be found hanging out a certain pub in Prague called Pilotu (or just ask for Pavel's bar in Vrsovice) and you are more than welcome to drop by (armed or unarmed, well, unarmed is best) and we'll settle our differences in person. The first pint's on me. And you can even try Islam's cooking. I recommend the curry beef and rice. If you're really nice, he might even let you use his computer.
In my defense, Islam read the reader responses and smiled. 'So --' he said. 'They think we are wrong.'
'Let's write another one,' I said, sitting down with a determined air at the computer in the kitchen at Pavels' where he works.
'No, no,' he said. 'Today we have not anything to say. We must wait.'
Grudgingly I realized, after a few vacant stabs at the keyboard, he was right. The critics had had their day. It's certainly not the first time. While working at the T-S, I recall a certain inmate (who insisted he was innocent) at the Humboldt County Jail used to leave messages on my phone telling me how bad my reporting of his case was.
'I wonder,' the inmate ruminated ominously. 'I wonder, Mr. Tressler, how you sleep at night.'
Not very well, but that could be for any number of reasons -- even poor writing -- but certainly not for any inmates parked in the Pokey, innocent or otherwise, and certainly not for critics. This is not just a turn of phrase: We're all innocent of at least one crime. I may be a 'former reporter,' but being a good writer is one crime of which I've sometimes been accused, but never convicted.