I haven't blogged since May. In that time a whole (mainly grey) British summer has passed, I've been on holiday and turned another year older, and not once had the urge to put pen to paper or words to screen.
A culmination of reasons have led to this radio silence. My last post was about theManchester attack, and ever since then, it's felt a little frivolous to attempt to come up with some sort of motivational message or optimistic slant on the world. Not because the optimism and positivity wasn't there - but because I felt like I'd rather be out living it and experiencing it with the people I loved. I've also felt for a while that I don't go deep enough with my posts, that I'm always scratching at the light and fluffy surface rather than really tackling the important things in life.
Another reason is that I've never been that good at blogging. Sure I can write and I can take a pretty good snap at instagram, but in terms of gaining followers, or writing snappy headlines or setting up promotional social media and all those other things that seem to define 'blogging success' - I suck at. I've known that for a LONG time, and I was happy doing my own thing but then I stopped knowing what my own thing was, and the whole thing just seemed a little pointless.
Couple that with the plague of negativity and bitchiness which seemed to have filled up my twitter feed over the summer months, and not only did my motivation go, but my want for it all went too.
What it really came down to was that I had nothing to say, and nothing to contribute to the endless chitter chatter that is the internet. And I was ok with that. I was busy, or I wasn't busy but I was happy to enjoy some peace and quiet.
And to some extent I am still ok with not really being a blogger. I don't miss it and all it seems to stand for now. But I do miss writing, and interacting with people online. I miss sharing those more long-winded obscure thoughts, that aren't really appropriate to whack in a whatsapp group chat. I miss going home to a quiet and empty flat and using my evening to order my mind, viscously tap away at a keyboard, and then find a pretty but totally unrelated picture to go with it.
I'm not sure if coming back and doing those things really makes me a blogger again. I feel like maybe we need a whole range of new words to define people who write on the internet - because I know that there are bloggers out there who work damm hard on blogging. Bloggers that not only create a blog post but share it, publicise it, collaborate for it, charge for it, spend hours scrutinising it, that truly make an art of it. Whereas me? In comparison to those artists? I'm painting by numbers.
But I think that's ok. I think you can have a blog, without relating to being a blogger. I think the internet is big and weird enough for everyone to do their own thing. So I'm back, with no plan or schedule, or label.
I'm just writing on the internet and hoping somebody reads it x
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