Yesterday I started to write a post which ended up being about worrying about writing. It was an inspiring tale about how you should make lists, like I do, to remind yourself what you have done, what you still have to do, and what you need to get from Morrisons. It was a thousand words, and it was dull.
A lot of people (writers included) choose the internet to wax lyrical about their hopes and fears – writing about what ails you is therapeutic and sometimes helps you work stuff out. It can also come off as whinging, or be mind bendingly boring.
“This is getting a bit introspective,” quoth I, “and it’s much too long to look at comfortably in the new WordPress dashboard – how do I enlarge the box with the text in?”
Worrying about what you’ve done – or haven’t, yet – is a valid part of the writing process, I think. It would be arrogant to just assume it’s all awesome. Choosing to bore strangers about it on the internet, however, is optional.
Perhaps this wouldn’t apply if I were writing bleak, gothic novels and wanted to appeal to an audience of bleak, angst ridden persons who could give me inspiration – but to be honest, my most recent story is about an imaginary dog. I have missed the boat on sad teenagers.
(Incidentally writing a nonsense story about an imaginary dog is not as straightforward as it sounds. I tried to explain it to a friend the other day and I couldn’t do it without sounding like an idiot – I had to go home and write sad poems in my diary to get over it.)
In conclusion – the blog post about worrying about writing may yet appear, but not at its present weight. For now, I will just say sorry for the radio silence – and Happy New Year to one and all.