My sister blogs. She blogs a lot. When I read her posts, I get an overwhelming sensation of how easy it must be – because she sort of calls me, and says oh she’s just blogging, and then she sends me links and then I forget to read them until I see her a second or third time afterwards, at which point she’s a little annoyed and it looks as though I’m uninterested, whereas, actually, based on what I read the first few times, I’m actually – hard to say it – intimidated.
The fireworks are an uncanny image of what’s happening now that I’m actually sitting here writing – seriously – there’s a massive celebration going on in underground scenes and pockets of society that we just aren’t hearing about yet – and they’re all enthralled because I finally started a new blog. Yes. Really. It’s that big a thing. The plan is to sit here and type away, with the ads between ancient episodes of Friends on the Comedy Channel as my only company, in the dark – it really adds to the atmosphere – so as long as I keep typing word after a word and I’m not thinking about what I’ve actually started again.
This is my third – no fourth attempt to blog. I’m really easily put off by the voice in my head that says ‘this has to be really funny, relevant, and whilst resoundingly of the moment, written with superbly memorable phrases and tales that sink into the subconscious and turn readers into robots who just want to read my blog all day long.’ I have decided to give up on that and do what my sister does – just write.