On Plagiarism and Other Ills

Twice this week I have come across blogged articles that were blatantly plagiarized from known sources, yet no credit was given. These blogs were copied and pasted word-for-word - complete with accompanying pictures - yet the re-posters failed to acknowledge the fact that the work was not theirs. What is truly sickening is that one of these bloggers is a grad student, who should know better! At the end of the original blog she "apologizes" for not crediting the original author (who she could no longer find) but declares that she posted it in fun. Oh, well that makes it all better, doesn't it?

Plagiarism is one of the great ills of writing in an electronic environment. Because it is so easy for someone to "share" your work without properly crediting it, writers - and aspiring writers - often have their work stolen by those who mean no harm...and by some who maybe do mean to claim another's work as their own. The fact that Blogger offers copyright protection is of some help, but you still have to find the people who are stealing your work - something that is difficult enough when dealing with the printed page; nigh on impossible when publishing online.

I title this blog "...and Other Ills", but really it is just one other thing. The other day, I was watching an old episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, in which Frank decides he wants to be a writer after the Reader's Digest publishes one of his jokes. Suddenly, Frank feels he knows all there is about writing and goes wild sharing his prose with all he forces to listen. At his father's request - and out of pity - Raymond drops one of his father's "columns" in his Editor's inbox. The Editor calls the work "amateurish". Frank decides that the Editor does not know anything about writing, and proceeds to continue writing.

While watching the story-line unfold, I could see where it was going and could not help but compare it to real life. I have often complained about how, thanks to blogging, anyone with a keyboard can think themselves a writer (as opposed to one who writes). I know people who have never taken a Writing or Communications course beyond the General Education requirements of their college or university, yet they believe themselves capable of writing the Great American Novel. The truly sad thing is that although their ideas may be worthwhile, they refuse to take constructive criticism; seeing it as an insult instead of an assist. Furthermore, they will not allow anyone to suggest their precious prose be edited for wordiness. Oh no…every word out of their mouths is a sacred pearl of wisdom to be treasured! How dare someone try to toss these pearls before swine!

I have seen blogs go viral on the basis of one really good article; an article that is well-written, relevant, funny, and something to which the masses can relate. I am truly happy for writers who experience such unexpected success; but my happiness is tempered by the knowledge that pride often comes before the fall. I have seen the swelled heads that prevail after such viral success. Like a writer whose first novel becomes a New York Times Bestseller, they develop a large following very quickly; people clamor for more and the writer feels flattered to produce. However, often times what they produce is....amateurish. The lack of processing and editing is evident; as is the fact that the writer rushed to churn out something to please their legion of fans. As the quality drops, so does the fan base and the opportunity to grow at a slower pace shrivels. I call it the Hootie and the Blowfish syndrome.

For anyone who remembers the late-1990's, Hootie and the Blowfish rocked the scene with Hold My Hand - a bouncy tune that was easy to dance to and fun to sing. This song rocketed the band to stardom, and their CD sales were through the roof. Their follow-up CD, Fairweather Johnson, tanked due to a bad choice of opening release (Old Man and Me) and the band disappeared from the charts, reappearing briefly with I Go Blind (another pop-rock tune) before vanishing for good. The lead singer, Darrius Rucker (aka "Hootie"), is now a Country and Western singer. Whatever happened to The Blowfish is anybody's guess...

When I started writing Ask Tazi! I never expected to gain a following, let alone the continued interest people have shown; an interest that grows by the week. As I have said before, it was simply a class assignment to be launched and then dismantled over the course of a few weeks. I am pleased that it is doing so well, and hope that in time it will become a national phenomenon. I would love for it to go viral...but first, I would love for it to be picked up for syndication - just so I can stay one step ahead of the copycats who would steal my concept of an advice giving cat.

The Writing On The Desk...and The Walls

Back when I was in junior high, probably out of sheer boredom, I started writing silly, funny notes to nobody in particular; tucking them into the framework of my chair for whomever else sat at that particular desk to find. I remember it started during a particularly boring eighth-grade English class, where we were pretending to listen to the teacher preach about how Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle went from being an expose on the American meat-packing industry to propaganda on socialism. From there, my new hobby expanded to my Earth Sciences class; culminating when my notes became so anticipated that my identity was no longer a secret – to the students, or the teachers; some of whom were bemused by my creativity, others who felt detention would be in order if they ever caught me.

They never did – catch me, that is – because at that point, as I recall, I started responding to the writing people left on the desks and bathroom walls. One particularly big hit had been my response to the crude and not so subtle demand, penciled on my math-class desk, to “Eat me!” I quickly penned the response, “No thanks, I’m dieting”, which immediately revealed my identity to all who read it. The combination of truth and dry sarcasm (I really was dieting) was like a laser pointer in my direction. My school was a small one, where everyone not only knew everyone else but also their business; and my disordered eating habits were better documented than I realized.

These thoughts came to me tonight as sleep eluded me, and I thought to myself, “Isn’t a blog like those notes I used to leave under the desks and on the walls?” Well, isn’t it? Isn’t a blog just an adult version of writing on the walls? A grown-up version of stuffing notes into the framework of my chair for anybody to read and respond? I suppose it is…and I find myself hoping that my blogs will be as successful – as anticipated – and as enjoyed as those missives of long ago.