For as long as I can remember I have wanted to write, I’m not great at it, its just something I like to do. So when looking for something new to try I thought perhaps writing a blog might be just the thing to give a go. I could write whimsical, witty musings and share them with family and friends. There would be no call to like it, nor hash it, no tweets, nor twitters, just words on a page to be read and then discarded like tomorrows fish and chip paper.
My dreams began big. Travel was going to be my blog focus and instead of constantly trying to email everyone at home I would simply post my writing on my blog and you could share my journey.
Now as I write this my naivety stuns me. The “page” I so casually refer to needs to be in a platform, in a universe I knew nothing about. Yet how hard could it be everyone has a blog? I google “How to write a blog” and the millions of hits assure me that its easy, buoying my confidence that I can do this. The first hurdle is to find which one is the best, which of the million hits will teach me what I need to know. Patience is not my virtue I haven’t got the time nor inclination to read them all so I simply pick one and get going with the idea that I will have it knocked out in a weekend. Now here today, months later and I could literally write a book, not a blog.
Not a best seller but a long, sad, sorry ass, book. A book about a fifty something woman who it turns out is not only technically incompetent but also completely blog illiterate. The genre of this book would be confusing as along with the standard drama with twists and turns and highs and lows, I could have chapters filled with horror. The ranting, the raging and the sudden, unexpected violence as paper clips and other handy materials are flung wildly around the room. No matter how cathartic those horror chapters could be I cannot write them as its a family blog and heaven forbid the grand kids could even read it. The trauma it could inflict on them as Nana the nutter would become my new “handle”.
I could write chapters of comedy particularly about the irony of “online chat” where I can “chat” to someone in a far away land and they can attempt to assist me with my difficulties. Who would give me lots of useful solutions to attempt, only to have to go back to “chat” some more when the difficulties stubbornly remained. There is a traumatised soul, somewhere in another land, with a chatty keyboard, who promised they would not leave me. Who stuck by my side in my paperclip filled office and who finally understood the pain of so much failure when they wrote “your system does not work” . The relief to find out that it was the “system”, not me, was palpable. The hours and hours and hours I had spent trying and failing over and over, were already a far distant memory as I had clarification the system did not work – not me – the system. The “chat” person apologised profusely and added me to the technical jobs “chat” people who gave me a job number and said they would get back to me soon. That’s another chapter.
There is a whole lot more to say about the unwritten chapters but I am weary and I will say is that this is actually my second blog. Not my first. You see my first one I wrote it and then I hit “post”, that seemed perfectly reasonable. However it did not listen it just sat on the page no matter how hard I hit it, nor how many times. With paperclips still in there little holder, and swear words inhaled deeply inside the mouth I explored the possibilities of pushing buttons and hitting keys waiting for the magic to happen and then “poof” GONE….. Not just hiding somewhere in cyber space just “poof” disappeared never to be back.
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Yep we have all had one of those moments at uni or work or even typing an email when your work just disappears but the thing you forget when it happens to you is NOBODY CARES. It is impossible to get the sympathy that a moment like that deserves. I told my niece about it, “oh yeah i hate it when that happens, I told my daughter “that’s annoying its happened to me”. What that’s it? Well I tell you the next time someone tells me that has happened to them I will not give them the “oh yeah and the dog ate my homework” look. I will embrace them in a warm and comforting hug and say “I understand, just let it go”, as I gently pat there back.
I will also remind you how it feels to know that the gone one is always so much better. It has the patience and care behind it. It has been worked on, deliberated over, edited and re-edited, as it wanted to impress. Whereas this one just wants to be done. It screams impatience its content now whiny not whimsical, yet if it ends up on the page where I want it to be I will happy. If no one but my niece and daughter read it , so they now truly understand my pain, I will be happy. So sit tight people and wish me luck.