Blog death

Is it absolutely necessary to have a fulfilling and varied life in order to write a blog?  Or do you  just need to have ‘an angle’?  I’m lazy but I like writing because it makes me feel like I’m using my time usefully (writing = good – a hangover from my school days, no doubt, would only be surpassed if I spent freetime doing algebra).  When I’m writing I can pretend that I am a rounded individual, getting the most from my creative resources and enjoying any little funny things that I might come across to write down, from my brain.  But really, I would rather watch television, but television hasn’t been good for a long time, not so consistently good that you could switch off for a whole evening.  So I’m left with spare time and spare thoughts, because I’m not going to start a new hobby at 6.53 on a Saturday evening and I don’t want to go out tonight to find where the ‘action’ is. So I write, to give me temporary repsite from the critic in my brain my, my ‘inner-mother’ who tells me that watching telly is a waste of time and that I shouldn’t have gone out without blusher on. And is currently telling me that what I write is boring and useless.  But its for me.  It just happens to in an incredibly public forum.

I’d like to write but I don’t have any idea  of what to write about –  and I doubt anyone out there is even remotely interested enough to help me – why should you be?  You’ve got your own issues, or maybe even your own blogs going on, blogs with definite angles like ‘top ten Cornish surf spots’ or ‘a life in the day of Andy Garcia’.  I don’t know – I can’t compete, and I don’t have the strength of spirit to find an angle or even motivate myself enough to write every day.  I think I last wrote over a year ago, yet the blog page persists, like a boyfriend who won’t take the hint.  How embarrassing.  How awful.  I’m experiencing blog death.  I am realising that I lack sufficient interest and dynamism to even sustain a blog page that no-one reads.  That’s morbid.  I can’t even make the decision to be interested in something seemingly puerile.  How did I get someone to marry me?

But maybe, like an icon, I shall be reborn (like Betty White, I mean) – and I shall resume my rightful place in the blogosphere.  If only I would put the effort in – now I sound like my inner mother – basta!

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