Lost Art

So I have a problem:
William Gass.

William Gass' book The Tests of time has forced me, beyond my expectations, to re-evaluate the way I look at the practice of writing. Indeed, as a former Waldorf child, I do value the art of writing: the sound of fountain pen against paper, the liner under my blank white sheet so that I write straight, the constant smell of white-out, and the feeling of satisfaction after completing an entire dictation without messing up once...and thus I feel bizarre writing my thoughts on a keyboard. I read the beautiful sentences that Gass has composed, and I cannot help but obey his pleas. Where did the personality of our sentences go? Times New Roman eats the flavor of our words, spitting them back at us like pre-chewed food for the masses (His image). Suddenly I am torn--I love my blog and the instant beauty I can achieve with the sameness of the type and I also hate this sameness, the polished and mediocrity of my pre-made template picked from 8 or so others when I signed up.

And what am I to do? Write my thoughts and scan them, somehow, in order to keep my small chunk of cyberspace? Let it go? Or delete everything and pretend Amaranthine never existed (and a part of me loves the irony of that).

I do realize that Gass' book is exactly what he was preaching against in that particular essay. And I do realize that this is the age of internet communication and I am simply doing what others are doing. But I crave subversion! This feels like dead air and broken windows. How can I make my empty house occupied? Or at least haunted...