Billygean.co.uk

Thursday, November 30, 2006

NaBloPoMo

I wonder how many thousands of bloggers are doing an end-of-national-blog-posting-month.

So how was it, to write every day for a month?

Well, on some nights fucking annoying (hi! a spot of t). I had to plan things around The Blog. "Can you come to the cinema?" "If the showing's after 9:30 I have to blog first". Quite irritating and raised some questionable eyebrows. Some nights I had nothing to say. And on those nights, very often I would produce a dumb post I wasn't happy with; poorly finished and mildly fabricated.

On other nights it would focus me, and I could turn a single moment or conversation into some of the best writing I'd done. That sentence is not an example of that, by the way. It wasn't that my blog quality went down, but that the number of stories I never thought I could blog but worked out quite well, went up. I began to formulate blogs whilst walking. If the anecdote had already happened, I'd wonder how to open it, what the punchline would be, how to phrase it. If it hadn't, I would plan to blog about thinking about blogging (meta-blogging?) which I'm sure will crop up one day.

I originally thought I'd say something like, sometimes the blog was a pain, sometimes it was a release. But that's not really what I mean. Sometimes the blog was an absolute pain when I had reading to do, and a boyfriend to see. Sometimes it was an arse to formulate something hopefully entertaining and not just theraputic moaning. However underneath all that is this happiness, that I actually have readers to please, who care, and comment so that I have at least 6 emails every single day. You have no idea how happy that makes me.

One thing's for sure; it's made me feel like a writer. I guess because the only difference between writers-t0-be and writers is that writers-to-be need a good kick up the arse. I hope I can look back on this long, cold November and have it perfectly conceptulised in my mind; that is one of the most previous things about a diary. But now it's more than a diary, isn't it? It's not private, it's not just for my memories; they're merely precious by-products of this whole new self-publishing game.

This month, thousands of people took the time to write every single day, not just for their diaries, but for their writing skills, and for their readers.

Now you tell me how many people were writing that seriously a century ago, and I'll tell you the internet's fucking wonderful.

Labels: NaBloPoMo

by billygean.co.uk at 10:55 PM |