Why? Because she's had it with blogs. With the endless array of narcissistic, quirkily-written, me-me-me rantings so desperately in need of an editor's firm, deft hand to make them understandable.

I think you know where I'm going with this. :)

From The Globe and Mail. The set-up is that Crusty (r/n Christie) was out for a walk when some guy who blogs passes by and asks to take a picture of her with her dog:

For the record, it is the last time I will read that particular blog, or any other. (And curious thing about that blog: The man who writes it uses only his first name and protects his identity, ostensibly, he says, because he means the blog to be about ideas. So what's the grand idea behind the picture he took of me and my dog?)

God knows, as a writer, I understand the need for self-expression. It's the same reason that people used to keep diaries. What I don't understand is the desire to make the diaries public. In the olden days, people had the wit to keep their diaries secret and, indeed, went to some lengths to protect their privacy. I once went into a teenaged rage when I discovered my mother was reading mine; the miracle, I know now, is that she stayed awake and was not made ill by all the angst. Now, people merrily post their diaries online and call them blogs. The writing hasn't noticeably improved.

Newspapers now have some of their writers writing blogs. Some of the writers actually like it, or say they do. So when the writers finish writing for the newspaper, they write for their blogs. At least, they say, you can write as long as you want, meaning there is no evil editor chopping out the best bits and asking dopey questions. Aye, that's the thing: What the deluded writer considers the best bit often isn't.

Now, no one is more impatient with editors than I am, as all of The Globe's could testify.

But they are necessary, and they as often as not save me from myself, although there are times even the best editor can't do that. But they try. If they stumble over a certain paragraph, they will say so, and point out that the innocent reader, too, might do the same.

“How can you not understand it?” I snarled recently at one of my best and longest-suffering editors, who was churlishly querying an incomprehensible sentence.

“Well,” she said mildly, “I don't.”

I fixed it.

But not so most blogs: They are the writer's unedited, uncensored, unexpurgated thoughts. It is akin to listening to Rick Wills, the frighteningly garrulous accused killer whose murder trial I have been covering (and for Mr. Wills's addicts, the case is slated to resume next week). Rick Wills needs, among other things, an editor. So do most people.

Writing, though, is one of those things that everyone believes they can do, sort of like breathing. Blogdom has only served to fuel that notion.

I remember running into a criminal lawyer I know named Steve Skurka, shortly before the Conrad Black trial began. I'd heard he was going to be in Chicago, acting as a reporter for CTV's The Verdict and writing a blog.

I congratulated him on landing the gig and then said, “I think I'll practise law next week.”

As it turns out, his blog was pretty good (although it could have used, Lord strike me down, an editor), and he's now writing a book about the trial. But the point stands: Not everyone can write. Or at least, not everyone can write without benefit of editor. Not every last thought of every single person in the world is worth “sharing,” as the lingo has it.

As usual, Crusty nailed it. Not everyone can write without benefit of editor.