One of the challenges of blogging to a predetermined theme is the imperative to find a link between that theme and one’s own experiences. The link can be clear or tenuous, or loose. It is up to the hapless blogger to conjure up something vaguely relevant. They can then use their writing to provide for the reader something of interest that might happily distract the reader from the inescapable fact that relevance to the theme is - er, nil. Not even loose. So, blogging can be an exercise in obfuscation. It can also be a test of the writer’s political dexterity. You know how politicians in interviews make a point of answering ad nauseam the question they wish they’d been asked, the question they’re pre-programmed to answer, rather than the awkward one they’ve actually been asked? (cf Paxman v Michael Howard, Newsnight) Thus can the blogger fulminate at length on a preferred theme, draw the reader in and cause them to forget what the theme was supposed to be! Speaking of displacement, writing this has been a temporary hiatus in an unpleasant and painful activity Dave and I have been engaged in for the last few days. We have had to face up to the reality that our imminent house move necessitates a traumatic culling of our books, for we cannot fit a magnum into a pint pot. The selection process has been rigorous, not always observed and the sight of literally hundreds of our precious books awaiting disposal is deeply distressing and depressing. I am trying to feel relaxed and – um, loose about this – and failing miserably!
On blogging, I will leave the last word to poet and blogger, Rachel McAlpine, on how she approaches blogging. Like most writers she saves up her jottings and musings, just waiting for the right and appropriate moment to release them.
Stuff in a blog
Let’s not pretend
that stuff in a blog
is poetry. A blog is a diary
upside down, a silo
where notions wait
for processing
or better times. Crammed tight
they twitch
in the dark.
They long to sprout
and see the light. Let’s spill them out
and set them free.
At worst the birds
will feast.
Rachel McAlpine
Thank you for reading.
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