Aw Diddums

Pacian tagged me for a six-word description of my life. That’s even shorter than a haiku!

I thought of mine last night; better put it down before I forget:

Came far, writes much, speaks little.

Even the much-loved and much-hated font I wrote it in speaks volumes (though it depends if you even have it on your computer). I’m allowed six tags but I ‘write much’ and am feeling greedy, so have allowed myself ten. The choice is up to you (and since I have four spare, four can cry off if they prefer) but my ten tags are (in alphabetical order):

BEG
Drifting
Iain (aw goawn)
Kaz
Goldfish
Pete
Shu
Snark
Timorous Beastie
Thomas

It strikes me that we have something important to say some of the time, and other times we are just marking time, like in life. It would be exhausting if we had something of great note to say in each and every post. On the other hand, we don’t want people to wonder where we have got to (while we’re brewing up the next item of gleaming worth) and give up visiting our blogs.

Just now I was rejecting something I wrote which was grey and formless to my eyes – more so than usual. But I still believe that blogs are living and breathing entities – not polished gems of perfection. Blogs reflect the nature of their writers and the lives they are living. Blogs are only human – and mine says it’s time I put up the tree!

Alright, alright… (stamping off).

Edit Feb 2008: Some of these old blog posts wouldn’t be a fraction of what they are without the thoughtful comments from readers of this blog!

1. Pete wrote at Dec 18, 2006 at 20:23:
I don’t do polished. I just waffle!! you bought Jolly a pressie yet

2. KatieK wrote at Dec 18, 2006 at 20:47:
I find it mystifying what other people find interesting in a post. Sometimes I will write what I think is VERY interesting and no one will comment on it, while other times I will post something I think is boring, filler really, and get 10 comments. Photographs are popular, as are posts about Turkish food, but other than that, I have no idea. In the end, I just post about things that amuse me.

3. Bunnyman wrote at Dec 19, 2006 at 02:31:
For me, a good blog is a bit like a good back street bookshop. Even if you can’t find a riveting novel, it’s still a lovely, friendly place just to spend a little time, to relax.

I generally grow attached to the style and voice of the writer and it’s as much this as the content that keeps me reading. From where I stand, your judgement of what to post and how often works just fine, whether “grey and formless” (not words I’d use here) or otherwise. I’m a hard reader to shake off, you see

But in this post you do show your skill as a writer because while I smile to read of your stamping, you’ve made an interesting point.

“blogs are living and breathing entities – not polished gems of perfection. Blogs reflect the nature of their writers and the lives they are living.”

Beautifully said. The blogs I like to read show glimpses of what is in the writer’s mind and sometimes these glimpses come from stories about very ordinary things.

I do find though, that the view looking out is quite different from the view looking in, so your post and the response I find myself giving to it provide constructive exercise for my dull and lethargic grey matter.

Shame the grey matter tires so easily these days. Time for a nap. Nighty nite.

4. Diddums wrote at Dec 21, 2006 at 14:33:
You have a good point about the ‘blog voice’ - that’s what locks me in, no matter what observation attracted me in the first place.

It worries me when I find blogs that say they would never stoop to everyday mundanities. I find that if a blog is purely newsy or purely something else, I lose interest pretty quickly. There has to be a draw, and it’s the humanity of the blog (or the ‘voice’) that works for me. The ‘mundanities’ are probably the best way for that voice to show itself.

I guess there would be exceptions to this rule (as always!) But I’ve always been more attracted to the books and stories (and blogs) that ‘ground’ me - give me something to identify with.

It’s getting colder but the gas fire is off and I don’t have the central heating on much. I feel I’m saving energy, and am warm enough with the cats and a blanket. Won’t be staying in this room for long, though, as the desk feels like ice under my palms.

The word ‘jaded’ applies to me just now – I have very little taste for anything, including Christmas (which I normally love). I look around and wonder how anybody else can bear it. All the cars and swimming pools and snooker tables and expensive toys and other such things… where do we get the energy?

I did brighten up a little last night when I watched the last part of a interview of Iain M Banks, science fiction writer. I read one of his books some years ago and wasn’t keen, but I can’t remember what it was. In the interview, he said he knows that some writers don’t like writing much, even though what they write is very good, but he doesn’t see the point of writing if you don’t enjoy it. I understand what he’s saying, but I think even if you’re the kind of writer who finds it a chore, there’s still a strong impulse to write. Life would be a lot emptier without it. Perhaps it’s not the writing that’s hard – more the structuring and planning. I mentioned it to Mum today, and she said exactly the same thing – “it’s not the writing; it’s the coming up with a good plot.”

Something the novelist said was that if he starts putting his point of view down on paper, he’ll sometimes find himself changing his mind even as he writes. It won’t be a total about-face, but he will be in the process of reconsidering aspects of his thoughts. I do that as well – I’ve deleted things I was trying to write because I’ve become less certain. I’ve probably written things in the past I don’t agree with now.

The world is so grey. We grow up thinking there’s only one correct answer for everything; that there is only one acceptable way to live; that there is always a right and always a wrong. Sometimes I find myself wondering… if there were terrible events and we were all wiped out, what would it really matter? In the settling dust there is peace. Nobody ranting and raving, or pointing fingers of blame.

Banks said something that pushed my gloom back into the shadows a little. He said we must write for ourselves and for close friends and family – not for anybody else. All of a sudden I remembered a night years ago: myself sitting up in bed, writing a short story, a very light one, and enjoying every minute of it; sheets of paper flying around the room. It wasn’t even bed – I was sleeping on my sofa at the time because work was being done in the bedroom, but it was fun – an adventure; a new take on life. That’s the spirit I need to get back to – I felt more like ME that night than I do now. I don’t know if I can ever get back to it, but now I’ve remembered what it felt like, maybe…

Edit Feb 2008: Comments to this post when it was hosted on Blogigo:

falcon82 wrote at Nov 16, 2006 at 12:12:
Just let the snow fall on your branches and as the weight increases to a point where it will all fall off and you will be spring again

Katie wrote at Nov 16, 2006 at 12:32:
My mother, an artist and architect, always told me, “draw what you want to see,” which I take to mean, “write what you want to read, ” i.e., write for yourself, or as you have it, just for your loved ones. I write manuals for graduate students, but where I really shine is telling stories to my daughter any time we are walking or stuck in traffic. I just start with a ridiculous sentence and go from there, weaving in bits of history and fantasy and making up stories about the ancient monuments around us here in Istanbul, a terrible romantic city with little written history – so we make our own. Sometimes I have her add sentences and paragraphs and we alternate details. These are the most fun, and I daresay some of the best memories we will have of walking through this ancient city together.