“I want to start a blog,” I said. “If I’m being honest, I have always wanted to start one. I thought I’d be good at it. And now that the trend is entirely dead and left behind in 2016, I finally feel ready to try it out.”
“Is that a smart move?” I asked myself.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well,” I gesture vaguely at the current state of the internet, “It’s a truth universally acknowledged that it’s better to be anonymous and avoid vulnerability on here.”
Hmm. They’ve got me there.
But on the other hand, where else am I supposed to play? The outside world is quickly collapsing, and like everyone else, I’ve turned to the internet as the remaining communal space to connect with people, learn new things, explore my own identity, and destroy and rebuild my sense of self, again and again and again.
But on the other other hand, I can’t think of something more daunting than being vulnerable on the internet. With creative writing you’ve at least got the shield of fiction to protect your thoughts from the world. But a blog? That’s basically a diary, isn’t it?
I’m also unemployed right now, and there are huge internal alarm bells about having a publicly accessible blog being a liability to my job hunt. But how could it be fair that having a hobby is seen as a liability just because it’s on the internet? For now, I’m trusting that I’m a good enough potential employee that anyone who does find this blog is impressed rather than concerned. (And if you are a potential employer who is reading this, hello there! Please hire me.)
It’s also worth considering that maybe if everyone were a little more vulnerable online, the world would be a better place, wouldn’t it? Or is that just wishful thinking? Or, worse, is that just an excuse to make a vanity project like a blog feel selfless or noble?
“Don’t get philosophical about it,” I roll my eyes at myself.
Fine, so what are the practical benefits of a blog, then? Well, I’ve been calling myself a writer for a couple of years now. A bold title, considering I have no writing to show for it. Sure, there are endless abandoned Google Docs with drafts that range anywhere between 1 and 90% done, and the act of writing is what makes the writer, not the publications to their name. But again, that’s getting philosophical about it, and I’m trying to be practical. Practically, I have very little writing to my name. I’d like to change that.
So if writing a measly little blog post every now and then helps me get over the fear of other people actually reading my work, and gets me into a groove of writing more regularly, then I don’t see a downside. And if people roll their eyes and think this is cringy and I’ll never get very far with it? Well, they can keep those thoughts to themselves, because I’m not interested in sharing my corner of the playground with that kind of attitude.
“Sounds very practical,” I acknowledge.
“Thank you, I knew you’d come around.”
“So what are you going to write about?”
“That’s an excellent question.” I consider it. I want to write about everything, and nothing, and all the things in between. Does it matter? Stop philosophising. “Maybe I’ll write this?”
I raise my eyebrows, unconvinced.
“The whole point is to practice, right? And part of practicing and building yourself is to get experimental. So what if I write this entire thought process, as an externalised conversation from my internal monologue?”
The external version of myself winced. “And does explaining this as part of the conversation make it all better or worse?”
Well now there’s just too much dialogue, and it’s all too meta. I wave my hands, the externalised version of myself dissipating before my eyes. I don’t have time to doubt myself anymore. I’ve been doing that for years — too afraid to put anything out there in case it wasn’t perfect.
And I’m sure I’ll look back at this blog post and cringe. Or maybe I’ll marvel at how brave I was when I decided that I didn’t care about perfection, only about creating things and putting myself out there. I suppose both can be true.
Anyway, this is my blog! Welcome to the playground.
Kate Southwood 