Blogs, who needs'em?

This is the first of a series of weekly posts for the year of the ox.

Hemingway, who probably shot an ox, in his prime wrote at least 300 words per day. But he was lucky, because he had a team just gaging to edit and disseminate his stuff. I was brought up on Hemingway, a style to be emulated, spars clear, and revised like an ox tilling and re-tilling soil.

In the days of computer, everyone must be their own staff, and thus I am compelled to blog. No one is coming to interview my in Havana. George Plimpton is dead.

We tell stories in a different way now. And people who read blogs, get their story on -- their need to be told stories fix, that they might have gotten from a novel -- they get story on in a new way. Hemingway would have been a blogger too. Imagine that. Imagine, Vince Noir telling you about Hemingway's Blog.

Does contemporary fiction have a different role to play now that the realm of first person realism is being covered by everyone in the whole worlds blogs?

I know I got some skips in my logic, but I was only shooting for 300 words, lightly reviesed.