I’ve been thinking about what blogging actually is.
To be honest, I’m just abusing the privilege of being able to bitch across the internet about how “bad” I have it when really, I don’t have it all that bad. I also like the feeling that someone somewhere might actually be reading this, which is more than I can say about the two novels I wrote in my late teens and early 20s. I use the term novels extremely loosely. They were ok. There are massive continuity errors. I would even go so far to say that some parts were very good, but they just didn’t gel. Not only that, the subject matter was slightly twisted, possibly incriminating and probably not safe for human consumption.
So yeah, it’s a way for me to vent and remember all the things that have happened. I’m leaving my mark, even if it is tiny and does consist mostly of incoherent or tedious posts about shit that I hate doing. And moaning about shit I hate doing. And then having to do it all over again.
My OH told me he likes what I do. I laughed at him. He seems to be really positive about the whole blogging thing and he sees it that at least one “random” (possibly spam) person per day reads this. That’s one person that I don’t know actually listening to the one sided, often jumbled conversation I have with myself daily. That is actually quite a nice thought.
I’m trying to get him to write a blog. I have set up the basics for him and he’s giving it a go, even if his first ever post is about being forced into blogging. His blog can be found here. So if you’re a little on the geeky side and like gaming, go have a look. I have no idea how long he’ll keep at it, or whether he’ll hate me forever for making him feel like he’s been pushed into something he doesn’t want to do, but I’m plugging it like mad.for him. I’m pretty sure once he gets into it he’ll find it as addictive as I do.
I shall end my musing there.