Although I had no internet for nearly a week I did force myself to keep to my routine of writing on the bus on the way to and from work each day. You’d imagine therefore that I’d now have a stock of really excellent posts, written, re-written with all the clichés removed and then polished like a diamond.
You’d be wrong.
It’s amazing how hard it is to get enthusiastic about writing when you know that nobody is going to read it. We all tell ourselves that we write our blogs just for ourselves and to some extent that is true. I have settled on a particular style of blog (hopefully humorous posts with an occasional sprinkling of ones where I ease some of my mental issues by writing about them) and nothing or nobody will get me to change that style (unless some major company wants to sponsor this blog, in which case I will happily write posts endorsing their product, even if it’s something like panda burgers).
But I know that I have a readership of people who are now friends and when I knew that it was unlikely that any of you would ever see any of what I was writing I found myself listlessly scrawling (if you can do that while typing) my way along, writing more or less anything.
If I’d had Microsoft Doodle (and if there is no such thing, then there should be) I could have filled the page just as effectively, and just as interestingly.
I have to say that I now admire those girls who write their thoughts daily in those little pink diaries with the big locks on the front, determined that absolutely no-one will ever them, at least until after they have died romantically of a broken heart.
Even if all they are writing is “David from across the road smiled at me today” they’re still doing a better job that I was able to do last week.
Yeah, I was amazed how quickly my feelings about writing changed, once I had a taste of an audience, even a silent one. Or a theoretical one.
Heh, panda burgers.
I have lost my mojo for tapping the keys on several occasions when the laptop went on strike, or the broadband went walkabout. I remember adopting ye olde pen and paper trick to keep note of a few ideas as they fluttered past. The trouble was that a week later, I could not make head nor tail of my own handwriting! 😦 Now I am off to see if I can conjure up a few words for tomorrow!
Tin, sounds a little depressed to me. Snap out of it! We love your blog and we do read it and there is no telling how many other people read it and don’t comment. I rarely comment but I do read it and though it’s true that you are quite charming and downright funny what I would really like to read it that someone from across the road smiled at you today. Well maybe not “David” but someone. I want to know more about Tin the man. I hunger for more about your life and daily existence with all the trials and tribulations. I want to know more, (as much as you want to share) about your health and your mental issues. I would love to hear more about your life in Ireland. I just want to know more about you. I’m not a voyeur (well maybe). I’m not a stalker (after all you are 6985 kilometers or just over 4300 miles away). I know nothing of blogging. I am not a writer. I can’t imagine writing for an audience. But some thing I would like to read very much is Tin man’s Journal. Maybe I am a voyeur.
I used to be like that but now I prepare a lot of my posts in advance, I have gotten used to imagining the readers are with me.
I know, I know. Like writing a piece of music no-one will ever perform: how would one manage it? I stopped blogging for a while to concentrate on writing something of even more substance and failed miserably. Some of us are just performance artists….
Interesting… I may have to revisit this theme at my own blog. Thanks Tinman for a post that has made me think. Scary as that sounds….
I just assume I’m going to publish it, and that hundreds of people, no tens, no, well maybe the odd person will read it. Then, as you notice, I publish carefully crafted articles than aren’t at all like drivel… in my dreams 🙂
We once had great fun with a friend’s early diary- it was all about bus journeys to and from school and who was fighting with whom…
Friday: Tom O’Neill was hit by Jim McGowan. He cried.
Monday: Jim McGowan was hit by Conor O’Neill… and so on
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I know what you mean only too well. Which is why I’m too chickenshit to write a book.
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