It’s been months since my last entry. But seeing as I’m up before the cat, which is never a good start today my experience, perhaps it’s time to try again. It’s not that I haven’t been writing. Not at all. I have 50,000 words on a novel to account for my silence. I’ve been doing some more skeleton rattling in my family tree. I’ve been jobhunting and another member of my family has gotten sick. Another sick parent. Enough, universe, enough.
So there’s been plenty going on to keep a girl occupied. I’ve often thought about doing a post, but it’s been easier and more convenient not to write. In short, my resistance is still terribly strong. Partly I feel like other types of writing, the novel for example, are more valid. Opinions are like arseholes. Everyone has one and after the recent election campaign I’m perfectly okay with silence. Behind that there is the reason of self-doubt. And behind that again? Fear. A blog is purely and unambiguously about the author; their thoughts and feelings and experiences. A public diary, which, Until the advent of blogging, were not words I would ever have paired together.
Blogs can also be subject based. In fact, one of the first how to blog things I read advised me to pick a topic and stick to it. To carve out a niche and establish my expertise. So what am I expert in? Not being a morning person, I’m an expert at sleeping in. Totally expert in book buying ( thank you lifeline book fair!). I’m expert in being messy and avoiding vacuuming. I’m expert in what it’s like to be adopted. The letters after my name imply expertise in matters environmental and historical, but the process of acquiring those letters suggests a) the dubiousness of the word itself and b) the ongoing desire to rest from those two fields and try new things. The only thing we can be truly expert in is being ourselves, coping with all our fears and hopes, vulnerabilities and strengths. Other people seem to be A lot more au fair with doing that publicly. I’m still working on that.