I have been blogging for six months now. Over six months. It is indeed a sobering thought, and yes, I am feeling rather uninebriated. Twenty-five weeks of yakking happily on [and whinging. And procrastinating - Ed]. Oh, very well, that too.
For what, Gentle Readers, is the point? Oh, I don’t mean in that in an ‘I’m going outside now, I may be some time,’ way. I’m enjoying myself hugely [When you're not 'moping', you idle young trout - Ed] and in the process I am discovering an astonishing thing: I do actually have some thoughts on writing, incoherent and footling as they may be. And I am not the only person on this planet who finds myself amusing. Glory be. Having established that I can do this without boring anyone’s ears off, I am now planning on striking out for Cape Pointful, by actually discussing writing a little more intelligently and mayhap toning down the self-pity just a gnat’s eyelash [Hallelujah].
But is there any point at all in this for the Gentle Reader? Will I be blogging myself off into a dusty little corner marked ‘Please ignore – contents tedious’ if I persist in versifying and maybe reviewing books in a temper? Or is that where whining and venting will land me? Like Buridan’s ass in reverse. I am now, and alas probably forever will be, sorely afflicted by the fear that you’ll realise it’s all some kind of trick and I’m not actually interesting at all and then you’ll all laugh harshly and storm out [Impostor Syndrome, this is called, apparently. It may well be an arse to have, but by God it's an arse to sit next to].
And anyway, what makes a sticky blog? Is it having a point, a mission [however woolly and self-indulgent]? Is it wittiness and clever writing? Being as regular as that writer’s senna, coffee, can make you? Is it being faithful to your readers? Does this blog have the fabled sticky?
Or are you all just being nice to me because you’re my friends?
[Oy vey, with the self-doubt again].
