To blog, or not to blog–that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous comments

Or to take arms against a sea of bloggers

And by blogging join them. To write, to blog–

No more–and by a blog to say we endure

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That blogging is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be missed! To write, to blog–

To blog–perchance to be Freshly Pressed: ay, there’s the rub,

For in that blog of ours what thoughts may come

When we have blogged of our weekly toil,

Must give us pause. There’s the rejection

That makes calamity of so long a blog.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of blogging,

Th’ writer’s wrong, the proud man’s comments

The pangs of despised blogs, the blogger’s delay,

The insolence of bloggers, and the spurns

That patient bloggers of th’ unworthy takes,

When he himself might his blog make

With a bare pen? Who would blogs bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary blog,

But that the dread of something other than blogging,

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn

No blogger returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those blogs we write

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make bloggers of us all,

And thus the native hue of blogging

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And blogs of great pitch and moment

With this regard their blogs turn awry

And lose the name of action. — Soft you now,

The fair blogger! — Author, in thy bloggings

Be all my blogs remembered.

(An adaptation of Hamlet’s Soliloquy from the play by W. Shakespeare. Sorry, Will, we couldn’t resist!)