This isn’t my first attempt at a blog and so far, I’ve had five twitter accounts. FB didn’t really suit me, and I have no idea what the snap apps are about. I don’t do selfies and rarely take pictures of my food. I had a theory that I was on social media way too much, so every time I got to 1000 followers or 10,000 posts, I would delete my account and do other stuff, like crafting, until I got the bug again, gave in and created myself a shiny new account. This is, however, the first time I’ve had a WordPress account, and I follow tons of people who use it, so I guess I’ll get the hang of it pretty soon.
I’m not expecting many readers or followers. I’m not really doing this for that anyway. It’s more of a personal challenge. You know in that Scroobius Pip song, “Death of the Journalist” where he says that he meets so many people who like being writers more than they actually like writing? Well, I’m the other way round. I write ALL the time. It’s just that I don’t write anything very specific. It’s all twitter posts, diary entries, etc. No novel in progress. I’m a big letter writer. I still have penfriends. I know, a dying breed. But the love letters in the shoe box under the bed between me and him had to actually cross an ocean to reach each other. Imagine. One or two sheets of that tissue paper, taking days to reach the other side of the world, and then they get to read your mind whilst you sleep. Emails don’t quite have the same feeling.
I’ve been wondering lately whether I need to stretch myself a bit more. That’s both physically and metaphorically. Walking to work and a bit of yoga for the physical part. That’s a whole other post. But for now, I’ll just concentrate on this. Hell, if I can write on Twitter for hours at a time, I can give this a crack.
Thank you for visiting. Please let me know if you enjoy my ramblings! Nx