Blogging

I was having a conversation about photography with one of my family members yesterday and I thought I’d share with him my New Year’s Eve fireworks fiasco. However, not wanting to repeat something which he may have already been aware of, I asked him if he had read my blog recently.” His answer was:

“I never read your blog. I don’t agree with them.”

“Nor do I,” someone else said (not for the first time), at which point I stood up and walked away.

It’s an old record.

I can be quite an influential person at times - in the work place, in my private life - and I like to think I’m more than capable of getting my point across to people. But in the three years I’ve been blogging I have never been able to find the words to explain why I do it, what I get out of it, and why it ISN’T weird or wrong or whatever else they may think it is. I’ve tried so many times to explain it but I’ve obviously failed because the questions or comments keep cropping up, and to be honest, it annoys the hell out of me.

Perhaps I expect too much from people who don’t have creative minds? Apart from Dan, I’m the only writer in my family – and when I use the word ‘writer’ I don’t in any way mean to suggest I’m even remotely good at it, simply that I enjoy the process of holding a pen in my hand and forming words on paper, or tapping out sentences on a screen. I was playing ‘schools’ and ‘offices’ and anything else which involved using paper and pens as far back as I can remember. I’d even ask my teacher for homework so I could get the satisfaction of working my way through an exercise book. It’s in my blood. It’s what I am, what I do, what preoccupies most of my free time, what defines me, what floats my boat and tickles my fancy and drives me forward. It’s how I best express myself. I adore words and books and the formation of sentences. I’ve never been more in awe than when I’ve read something truly amazing – a handful of words which have been put together in such a way that it makes my heart stop and my mouth hang open. For some people it’s the creation of a painting, or a piece of music, or a plate of food which makes them wide eyed and ga-ga. For others it could be the weeks and months someone has spent making a piece of furniture, or building a bike. For me it’s words. I am still totally and completely dumbstruck when I think about the masterpieces which have been and have yet to be created, with just 26 letters. It blows me away, actually.

But why do I blog? 'Because of my love of words' isn’t the right answer, is it? If it were merely the writing process itself which I enjoyed, I could simply write for my own pleasure and not have a blog. Millions of people out there probably have diaries and stories and thoughts and feelings scribbled on scraps of paper and stuffed in wardrobes or under beds, for their eyes only. I used to be like that, once upon a time. But then something happened.

After keeping my writing extremely close to my chest for my entire life, a very close friend of mine - who happens to be the most amazing writer and one of my biggest influences - persuaded me to show him some of my work. And so with gritted teeth and feeling incredibly exposed, I did. What followed was a remarkable year where we joined forces and wrote a book together. The feedback I received from him boosted my confidence to heights I could only ever dream of before, and upon completion of that book, something within me changed. I’d reached the point where the simple act of writing wasn’t enough for me, and I began to crave a bit of recognition, advice or feedback for paragraphs I was proud of. But saying “read this” and shoving a piece of paper under the nose of someone who didn’t know their apostrophe from their antonym gave me little reward. I’d sit there, poised on the edge of my seat, watching their eyes flick across my words, and when they’d finished I’d ask: “What did you think?” The reply would be something along the lines of: “Yeah, it’s good.” It was so disheartening.

So is that why I blog? For the praise and the attention and feedback of like-minded people?

Perhaps, on occasion, there’s a little truth in that. If I happen to write something which I’ve spent a lot of time on…something which I think is particularly funny or moving or clever or well thought out…and if it’s picked up on in the comments section (the fact that it wasn’t just a ten minute ramble but something I worked hard on) then I do get a buzz out of it. If I’ve sweated over it and had sleepless nights because of it, I guess that I secretly and ashamedly seek some praise for it. But 99 out of 100 of my posts are written with very little thought, no editing other than a quick spell check, and for no other reason than to scratch a creative itch and relay to you a load of old twaddle about my last few days. If it was recognition and praise for my creativity that I wanted, I’m certain I’d be using something other than a blogging platform. And I’d definitely be putting out creative pieces of work rather than diary entries.

Maybe I just like having an audience, regardless of the brilliance or diabolicalness of my writing? (Perhaps I blog so that someone can actually tell me whether or not ‘diabolicalness’ is a word?) Perhaps I’m a narcissist? Yes! Perhaps there was something fundamental missing from my childhood and I’ve been left with a ‘look at me, listen to me, notice me, HERE I AM!’ kind of personality?

(For any family members reading, that last sentence was a joke.)

I suppose the bottom line is that I blog because I enjoy it. I enjoy the entire process…from thinking about what to write, writing it, editing it, getting it out there, knowing it’s out there, watching the comments coming in, being able to interact with people, seeing new faces popping up, making people laugh or cry or yawn or giggle or arch their eyebrows. I enjoy getting a reaction, a thought, a bit of advice, a compliment, a point of view, a nod of the head, a frown. I even enjoy the moments when someone disagrees with something I’ve said - which triggers a burning desire in the pit of my stomach to prove my case. More than any of that though, I just enjoy having another place to go. It’s an extension of my house…another room. It’s like going to the local on a Friday night, or calling a friend for a chat. It’s the best therapy I’ve ever come across. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had on my own (without batteries). It’s quite simply the most amazing, long lasting, worthwhile experience I have ever been a part of…on so many levels. And perhaps most importantly of all, there are many people who I’ve met here, and who visit me here, who I now class as some of my closest friends.

“But these people CAN’T be friends,” is another common remark. “You can’t KNOW them. They could be ANYBODY!”

And right there, begins another lengthy debate. Another moment where I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and can’t even be bothered to explain.

So, wonderful people. Tell me (and them)....

Why do you blog?