DEAR DIARY

I guess that writing a blog is just like writing a diary, but without a lock on it. Obvious, I know, but it wasn't that many years ago that a diary would be written to be kept a secret. Or was it? Has the Internet, and more importantly, the blog, given everyone the free rein to expose their innermost thoughts and feelings in a very public arena? I know my writings are specifically written for public consumption, but also, in some instances, intended for specific individuals. Lets face it, if a blog is just a public diary, it's only right and proper that one should carry on a thread of tradition, and write about the people and things that one knows and emotionally impact upon our lives. It is probably even more of a diary writing tradition to be cryptic about certain elements, mainly people, when writing a blog. I know I do.

It is not exactly breaking news that the centuries-old art of novel writing has been used as a glorified diary vehicle, to pass on messages (hidden or otherwise), or life observations, over the space two or three hundred pages, rather than the condensed blog version of just two or three pages. We are in an age of such short attention span, with the such 'busy' lives we all lead, it is no wonder that there is such a demand for bite-sized novels in the shape of blogs. I must say that it is easier to space out to a column in one of the colour supplements than settle down with a novel, when there's some time to read. But it's a lot like snacking, there's an instant hit that fades very quickly, only leaving one dissatisfied and wanting to go back for more. Better to have a full meal that gives one a small spectrum of flavours and leaves one so much more satisfied.

There was a time when my general attention span was at 'soundbite' level only, but increasingly, i am more inclined to settle down for an evening's good novel reading rather than read a colour supplement or watch the TV. I know I'm not doing myself any favours advertising the strengths of a full novel rather than the blog's micro hit, as this is my chosen medium to do my own writing. Perhaps there's room for both, perhaps the two art forms are different? Whilst blogging could still be shorthand for a novel, there's a time and a place for both? If i read a novel i hope that i am able to relate to the characters and go on a bit of an adventure with them, and maybe giving the story some impartial analysis once it's all finished. Whereas a blog is more of a signpost for a reason, or reasons, cryptic or otherwise. Even better would be if a blog would be cryptic about me! That's it! I have yet to feel the full benefit, or curse, of a blog. As i am without any great number of friends or relatives that bother wasting their time on such unread scribblings. There are but a handful of people i know that bother. Perhaps, because like me, they are usually personal ramblings that very few others are really interested in reading.

It is possible that there is a good percentage of us out there, that are agonising about our chosen method of expression, and how it is received, what it is saying to people, whether it is pulling some emotional strings or not, most importantly, by those we know and love. We all try and express ourselves somehow, it's not only writing. I have spoken about this before, not just about expression through writing, but music, dance, whatever art form one chooses. There has been mixed, and emotional reactions. Which is what we all want, a reaction, is it not? It certainly is for me. Most of my life i have realised i need to express myself in one creative way or another, and sometimes, just sometimes, there's been a connection between me and someone else that has made it all worth it. I'm not talking about praise, although praise has a place that is good, but an understanding, an empathy, an intimacy, a movement of the heart, that is what is so important to me. It is real, it helps me understand that I'm not just stumbling along in the dark, on my own.

I know that the few published columns that I prefer to read, are usually writings that i can relate to in a rather abstract way, albeit with a recognised understanding of the writer's general emotional thrust of the piece concerned. So perhaps it's time that someone out there should write about me, that would thrill me and horrify me in equal measure. So there's a challenge, not only could someone write a blog piece that is personal to me by virtue of me knowing the writer concerned (that means start writing a blog, friends and family), but also that the writer concerned could be so cryptic about their writing that only i know that it's about me.

Go on, I challenge you, make my day, not only would I see myself in print, by another author, but also I will recognise, and be thrilled, that someone has been bothered enough to read the stuff I've written , but also reacted to it in a creative way.

Perhaps all of this expression lark, whether it's any good or not, is all about love. The love we all need or desire. Perhaps novel writing , and blog writing, is just a method of reaching out for love, expressing our experiences of love and the all encompassing spectrum of that wonderful emotion. Wonderful, that is , if you're getting it, hell on a stick if you're not. Maybe I'm just seeing all of this from my limited perspective, perhaps it is just me that is searching for love and understanding? Surely there are so many other reasons why someone would waste all this time on writing things down, that then goes out into the ether, never to be seen by anyone that might have an interest in their own involvement in the scenario. I like to think that what continues to motivate me is a thin vein of optimism that runs deep inside me, keeping me moving when all seems grey. This is , however, a two way street, there is always a possibility that you are the chink of light shining through the slate grey clouds. So go on, show me some love, write to me, about me, anything, just write.