Every now and then, as Bonnie Tyler repeatedly put it in that sadly unforgettable heap of musical dung Total Eclipse of the Heart, I fall apart. Then, I fall back together again and everything carries on much like before, after which I feel compelled to write about it. And if that wasn’t enough, every now and then, I feel the need to explain and justify the existence of this blog.
Behind this bluff exterior lies a far more sensitive soul. One who doesn’t crave, embrace and even enjoy praise for anything at all in life, let alone for this blog. Which is probably just as well, really, since I am reasonably sure, to the point of absolute certainty to be honest, that I am never going to make a living at this writing malarkey. Sadly for you, dear reader, you haven’t got rid of me that easily. At least not yet.
I do wonder if people are thinking negative thoughts. “Who does he think he is?” “What makes him feel he is right about everything?” “Why is this blog all about him? “Doesn’t he realise other people have issues, too?” the who, what and whys take longer to answer – that’s the point of open questions, I guess – but with regard to the latter, of course. I write about the world I see in front of me and it’s straight from the heart, especially with an often misfiring scattergun brain that gets disabled at just the wrong times. Essentially, it’s all about me. That’s the whole point. But I love this wikipedia definition:
‘The personal blog is an ongoing online diary or commentary written by an individual, rather than a corporation or organization (sic). While the vast majority of personal blogs attract very few readers, other than the blogger’s immediate family and friends, a small number of personal blogs have become popular, to the point that they have attracted lucrative advertising sponsorship. A tiny number of personal bloggers have become famous, both in the online community and in the real world.’
I mean, that’s me, apart my continued inability to attract any advertising sponsorship, never mind the lucrative variety. Oh, and I’m not famous either. In fact, I’m barely a household name in my own household.
I do this because I love writing. It is the primary reason that I get up in the morning. And I am grateful to the technology that enables me to write and publish my own work, of not to the declining world of the print media which continues to show total indifference to my … ahem … literary genius.
Every now and then, I write something that makes me think, that’s half decent and better than much of the shit you will find in the red tops, but that’s tempered by the reality that people actually like to read much of the shit they find in the red tops and will never have the (ill?) fortune to read and compare the ramblings of an unknown blogger from Bristol.
So, in conclusion, what’s the point of this blog? Well, there isn’t one, is there? It’s me writing, that’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you think it’s shit, or think you could do better (and who couldn’t?) then start one up yourself. I’ll read it. Every now and then, anyway.
