I hadn’t realised the emotional turmoil that comes with starting a blog. I wonder whether all new bloggers are wracked with this same self-doubt? It feels a bit like internet dating with THE WHOLE WORLD AT ONCE. Or perhaps with nobody. I’m not sure which is a scarier prospect. Not that I have ever experienced internet dating (urgent clarification on the realisation that The Husband might potentially read this one day), however I imagine, at least for me, that the neuroses would be the same.
When should I next post? How soon is too soon, I don’t want to appear too keen lest I suggest I have no life at all. If I leave it too long I will seem distant and aloof, or disinterested. Any potential suitors (or readers – I’ve started the internet dating metaphor so I’m going to finish it) could have had successful dalliances elsewhere whilst I’m prevaricating, muttering about quality and quantity to justify having not started typing.
What on earth to actually say? I’m feeling acutely aware that my default setting is slightly sarcastic, which, when written down, oscillates between sounding cutting or like I’m trying far too hard to be witty. Prolific prose on the minutiae of life is tempting, but it can tend towards the pretentious and self-important which is not my first impression of choice.
My pre-existing lurking habit suddenly feels like profile-stalking and I’m sneaking around on other blogs with alarming frequency. Hunting for hints to make my page more appealing, judging post-length (although perhaps that is a pointless exercise as I am committed in that respect), content and picture placement. Everyone else suddenly seems so much wittier, prettier, and readable (or should that be dateable – I’m confusing myself now).
Pictures are causing me a particular concern. I remain in awe of those perfectly framed snapshots, beautifully lit (or instagrammed) and exuding style and that sense of a life lived well, whilst somehow being perfectly appropriate for the post content. I am envious. I will persist. Though I can’t help but feel that I am lacking the necessary subjects, or perhaps just the artistic eye required to create something arty from the everyday.
|(a picture I took on honeymoon - now to make real life look this artistic)|
The constant comparisons I am suddenly drawing are not unexpected; I have a tendency to do the same in most situations. I am, in life and online, attempting to become less quick to find myself lacking. As a gesture towards that mindset, I like my layout, my font, my colours, I feel the tweaking was worth it. Nobody I know (and perhaps nobody I don’t know) has seen this page, but I should think they would know that I have personalised this. It feels very “me”, for want of a better phrase.
In writing this post it has occurred to me that perhaps watching this last night has stayed with me more than I realised. Whilst it only reaffirmed what a great respect I have for Dame Judi Dench, that is a topic for another post. Reading the above I think that the content is similar in many ways to the short film, and I feel reassured that the insecurities are not mine alone.
Yet they niggle on and threaten to usurp my plans to post this. Have I pitched it right, will you reply, am I not just happier being single anyway? It is a commitment that is for sure. I have already found myself noting down ideas throughout the day, things I would like to write about. I sense an impending obsession with reviewing the traffic through the site. It does play on the mind.
I have, despite the diffidence, found the process engaging. Even if I do turn out to be writing to nobody, I am enjoying myself anyway. Toying with words and constructing (albeit questionable) analogies is a pleasant pastime. On the commute to work today I found myself reworking sentences in my head, expanding ideas and phrases into possible posts. These may be the words of someone who has had no replies, valiantly pretending not to care, but I’m enjoying writing just for writing’s sake. Does that make me the blogging equivalent of a flirt, I wonder, wanting wordplay with no strings attached?