Fall 2022 Post 14: Blogging as a Tool for Learning

I have written for as long as I can recall.

Of course, for the first forty years I wrote on paper: scraps, lined yellow pads, journals, blank typing paper. For the past 20 years, I have written mostly on computers. For the last 12 years, I've written on my blogs—first, a personal blog about my family, and then a professional blog. I'll talk mostly about the professional blog since my personal blog is closed to public access. My professional blog is called Learning Complexity, and I invite you to read the last post I wrote. Yes, I know it's an overly long post, but I'm working out my ideas there, and that can take some extra time and space.

Learning Complexity is where I learn. I explore all my new ideas on this blog first, and then later, I identify and rework the good ideas, the ones that stick, into scholarly articles and presentations. But I don't write anything professionally that isn't written first in my blog. See, I believe and practice what I preach to my students: I write first to learn what I think about some issue, and then I rewrite my best ideas into academic essays that I'm comfortable sharing professionally. By the time I actually write something for publication, I have already written and rewritten it several times in my blog.

Now, lots of the stuff that I write in my blog is never published or presented professionally. It isn't good enough. I make lots of mistakes in my blog, but that's okay. My blog is where I'm working out my ideas. It's where I'm writing through lots of ideas to learn what I really think about some issue. I'm fortunate to have a group of scholars who read my blog and who often leave comments about my formative ideas. Likewise, I read their blogs to keep up with their new thoughts. Thus, our blogs are extended conversations we have to help each other with new ideas. I find value in their thoughts, and they seem to find value in mine — at least, enough value to keep reading and commenting. By the way, I've never actually met most of my readers, but they have become my good friends over the years. Think of our blogs as online coffee shops where we gather from time to time to discuss interesting ideas.

For the past year, I've been writing about complexity and narrative, what I call rhizo narratology. It's a tough line of thought for me that was prompted by my inability to understand why so many of my family and friends admire Donald Trump, who I saw as a disaster for America and the Republican Party. Trump was a polarizing figure in America, so most of you know passionate people on both sides of the arguments about his presidency. I've written a few silly posts that I no longer accept. Still, I had to work through those silly ideas to get to the better ones. I'm pleased to say that I have a much better understanding of how seemingly bright people can look at the same facts and see entirely opposite realities. My new understanding about the stories people tell about Donald Trump (both for and against) has not changed my assessment of his presidency, but it has given me a more sympathetic view of the people who saw him as the savior of America. I think I can understand why they felt that way, but given my initial bias, I had to think really hard and do lots of research to understand their point of view. In other words, I had to write a hell of a lot to finally learn something. That writing has made me a better person. Likewise, writing will make you a better person.

But first you have to write, even the silly stuff. Here's something you can learn from someone who has been writing for nearly 60 years: it's a lot easier to fix a silly or poor idea that you've written down than to fix an idea that you haven't written down. Write your ideas down, even if they are silly. You can fix them later. I do, and it's worth doing. Writing is how I learn.