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Clickin’ publish and takin’ names.

My first encounter with the word “blog” was in the context of an article speculating about the possibly increasing narcissism inherent in our (white, middle-class, Western) culture. This was in, erm, 1999, when the word blog was all but unheard-of. And this wasn’t a peer-reviewed scholarly paper, either: this was a fluffy, stock-photo-littered tabloid spread in one of the cheap shiny magazines that all Sunday newspapers had to have. My point is that my impressionable mind was, uh, impressed: blog = narcissism. Fast-forward 9 years when I realised blogs were one of my primary sources of data; I decided to start one. But to ensure I wasn’t being narcissistic, I was going to be a knit/food blogger. Nothing else. No trivial details about my personal life. No mundane cat photos. Certainly not going to be one of those blogs. (I KNOW. SHUT UP. I’m doing a confession-thing here.)

My point is: that’s a load of ponypoop and I’m not going to do it anymore. I don’t mean to imply that I’m going to start blogging my every thought and fart (that’s what Twitter’s for), but I’m no longer interested in the “but I don’t want to be narcissitic” insecurity. Fuck that noise, in its stupid noise whole. My favourite bloggers are the ones that include bits of their personal lives, cats, bats and beards in their writing: they might have an ongoing theme with their writing, but they write regularly and they included the other stuff that’s influencing them, making them think, and contributing to making them an interesting writer.

I know I’m not saying anything new by saying this, but it’s new for me: I’m a writer, this is my blog, and I’ll blog about anything I damn well please. Despite the dynamic, bold and resolute nature of this statement, most things I want to blog about are related to writing, knitting and reading, so I don’t expect a lot will change around here, but I want to talk about some of the other stuff that’s in the ol’ splatterdome. Like SpongeBob. And my personal quest to buy as few consumer goods as is humanly possible. And my compost bin. And why I get grouchy while trying to cross at zebra crossings (it was a bad day: on good days I just shake my head and chuckle ruefully).

Narcissism be damned. I’m a writer with a few goddamn things to say, and I’m fed up with silently reprimanding myself with “now, don’t be narcissistic; don’t waste the nice Internet’s time with your tiny adventures: keep it useful and factual or shut up”. Useful and factual are as much about variety, real life, and side roads as they are about knitting and cooking tutorials. Don’t get too upset: there’s still going to be plenty of knitting talk (or at least there will be when I get to the end of my huge “Surprise Gift” knitting list, which I obviously can’t blog about) and there’s going to be plenty of foodin’ talk; but there’s going to be plenty of other chatter, and the photos aren’t going to be always relevant, although I will try to have photos whenever possible, because what is the point of a blog without pictures or conversation? And I can’t deny that there will be the occasional hypoglycaemic/pre-menstrual/overtired grumpypants hissyfit, although I will try to do so at least with panache. Life deserves talking about, writing about, sharing and discussing – and my life is no exception although with fewer tomatoes.

Welcome. You’re going to like it here.

(Do newspapers still have cheap shiny Sunday mags? If so, somebody tell them what era this is.)

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