There's an Edward Abbey book,
A Voice Crying in the Wilderness (Vox Clamantis in Deserto), that I'm thinking of as I post my first blog here. It's a little collection of pithy Abbeyisms, such as "A word is worth a thousand pictures, if it's the right word." It's a good Abbey title, though his was really more of a voice crying
from the wilderness, a voice that echoes still in the coffee-scented aisles of Barnes & Nobles and Borders stores across this great land.
My editor, Andrew Karre of FLUX, said that on my myspace blog, I'm "not a voice in the wilderness," but I really am. I love myspace, but it's not a place where people read much. I had to do a lot of pleading with my friends--mostly former students--to get them to look at the postings of my as yet unpublished novel,
OR NOT. Once they did look at it, I was very pleased with the response, even by some of those that I thought might not relate or might even be offended.
But I'm still
vox clamantis in deserto, and I remember a night when I left the party next door to my apartment in the old Colorado College student dive that we called the Wahsatch Hotel, retiring to the tuberculosis-cure porch that was my bedroom at the time. As I sang and played my guitar--some traditional song that I knew from the Grateful Dead, I'm sure--philosophy snob Allen Hill passed by and called out, "Are we having an audience yet?"
Aparently, yes. Not very appreciative, to be sure, but yes. And as Gandalf the Grey said (though he was, in fact, Gandalf the White at this point in the tale), it was customary of old to address the wisest person present, which allowed one to avoid the annoyance of tedious explanations. So, in Gandalf's case, he was--as Strider suggested--speaking to himself.
Vox clamantis in deserto, then! I've always been able to amuse myself by talking and singing to myself. If somebody happens to listen in, then s/he's welcome to lend an ear. And if thine ear offends thee, or mine mouth, pray don't pluck it out--just move along until you're out of earshot.
