I’ve been thinking about this blog, and why I write it. Perhaps should have done that before I started, but better late than never.
I discovered Twitter and the world of blogging at the same time, and both largely by accident. I knew people had blogs, I just didn’t realise that it was as easy to set one up, nor that there was such a community around them.
I liked the idea of having somewhere to put down the ramblings in my head, rather than just arguing back at the radio during the day or lying awake fuming at night. I also liked the idea of rediscovering how to express myself in words, after three years of being almost entirely in mummy land. And I liked the idea of maybe having somewhere to jot down the bits of parenting (good and bad) that I don’t want to forget. I still do. It’s just that somehow I’ve got that confused with the whole thing; started aping other people’s way of publicising, started writing for an entirely imaginary audience and generally gagging myself with confusion and self-consciousness. Posts are agonisingly slow to germinate, and then come out as turgid and stilted and not actually what I really wanted to say.
So, back to the beginning. I’ve disconnected the publicise function on WordPress and will stop shamelessly plugging anything new that I write. This is for me, and if I stop telling people it’s here, I can stop worrying about what they might think of what I write. Perhaps blogging isn’t something for someone who’s prone to introspection and self-doubt (although, on second thoughts, who better?!) but the original reasons still hold good. A sounding board; a record of my day-to-day life; a companion whose bottom doesn’t need wiping – yes, thank you, that sounds perfect.
(Oh, and if anyone is actually reading, you’re very welcome, and thank you. Is it ok though if I pretend I can’t see you?)