Imagine an old woman, shakily descending into the lounge of her dusty living room. The only sound apart from her laboured breaths are the tick, tock of the clock on the wall; you suspect it’s been around long before you were born.

“I’ve had a blog or two in my time. Back in 2003, when blogger was some ridiculous word nobody had heard of. LiveJournal was about, sure - but only the most hardcore pen-types dabbled with that.”

That’s what I feel like, whenever I try to make an introduction on some new blog. Because it’s true - I did write blogs, long ago. Back in my more youthy youth.

When I was a teenager, one who had to keep their bedroom door open and accept traffic in and around a teenager’s most precious space, a blog on the internet was like one of those secret rock-safes - hiding in plain sight. Without social media having taken hold just yet, a blog was like a sapling in a forest, invisible amongst all the other internet pages, only of note to those whom I’d given the URL (they were few, and largely disinterested).
While I was no fool - I did not wish to air my most dirty laundry somewhere public like the internet, it felt at least a little quieter than the real paper journal which lived in my bookshelf; a piece which I highly suspected had been read by multiple parties when I was not present.

Nonetheless, I poured a few years of my life into a blog, and even turned one part into a book. But it was experience at university that soured the notion of online writing - wherein each subject subject of study forced a student to ramble rubbish about it on a blog, to be checked and marked at intervals. I did my best to make the writing amusing, but after over 200 blog posts on semi-interesting ideas, I became thoroughly disillusioned. Writing for pleasure became instead a whirl of fiction, long and clambouring explorations of the television and literary worlds I’d retreated to.

But you don’t post stories on a blog.

So in fit of frustration, I deleted them all. Years of both poignant and mindless writing, lost to only the most thorough of archives, posts hopefully erased from existence, having been read once by myself and then never again, except from that one person in lithuania.

I’m back, though. Sort of.

A quick flick through a search engine tells me the world is different now. Now everyone’s airing their opinions and feelings in microblogs like twitter feeds and facebook posts, waving like flags in a public square, with donation boxes begging for likes and reposts. The blogging world has moved from a private place to an educational one - the most popular blogs shouting advice and instructions on a myriad of different things. Even half-way homes like Tumblr have moved in a different direction, instead a meandering scroll-fest of popular cult-ure, more about the instant gratification of picture media than writing.

Is there room for a little blog full of half musings, things that aren’t quite sure if they’re private or public, disjointed internal discussions on topics with no rhyme or reason?

I don’t think I care if there’s room. It’ll just have to fit me.


Samantha Peters