I have such a strange relationship with my blog. Sometimes (usually when I have written something on it that I am particularly pleased with) I feel proud of it, and resolve to write more things on it I can be pleased with, more often. But most of the time I am irritated by it; it nags away at me and makes me feel guilty every time I think of something interesting that I should maybe write about, but can't be bothered. I neglect it dreadfully, especially of late, and then feel terrible, and envious of all the other people (go on, look over there, in the links, there are LOADS) who have the dedication to tend their blogs like they're diligently nurturing lovely gardens. My garden (blog) has become woefully overgrown (ignored).
I have been having a think about this today, over a Scotch egg and a cup of tea, and I think part of the reason I struggle with staying on top of blogging is that I'm not sure exactly what kind of a blog this is meant to be. I put bits of stories on it sometimes, but it is not really a writing blog. I put photos on it sometimes, but it is not a photo blog. I occasionally comment on news and events and things, but it is definitely not a journalistic blog. Which really only leaves me with one option - it is a 'personal blog', that woolly thing which is like a sort of online diary, and I think maybe I struggle with it because of the solipsistic element - because I feel a bit silly writing about the everyday stuff, like people might think I'm an egomaniac, and worse than that, an egomaniac with nothing to say.
I had a chat about this, and about my general 'blog envy', with
Jenn at the weekend, and felt a bit better. I was talking about taking photos and putting them on here, photos of such unremarkable things as the inside and outside of my house. I realised that one of the reasons I do stuff like this is that I, as a reader, am fascinated by the minutiae of other people's lives. I am positively enthralled when I stumble across a post where someone describes the little events of their weekend, or puts up photos of things like
their new tea cosy or their writing desk. So I suppose I, from time to time, post stuff like this because it's the kind of thing I like to look at myself. And maybe I've always worried that this kind of thing isn't 'worthy' enough, but actually maybe it is, because if I like to look at things like this, surely other people do too. Maybe this kind of blogging doesn't make me an egomaniac, after all. And nobody has to read it, if they don't want to.
So I am going to carry on as a personal blogger, in the same hotchpotch fashion that also includes bits of other sorts of blogging, and not leave my blog to die. There are actually lots of interesting things coming up soon that I WILL want to write about, things like the reading night events at Camp Bestival and Manchester Literature Festival, for instance, or the exciting new thing I've got starting in September at Commonword, that will also involve blogs, but blogs with a very specific purpose and therefore much less troublesome than this one.
