Sunday, October 19, 2008
THCWEAM AND THCWEAM UNTIL I'M THICK
ALTERNATE TITLE: A FAT MOONFACED TROLL PIG FIGHTS BACK
With apologies to Vicus, who recently suggested that blogging posts about blogging are wanky, tedious and self referential. He is right, of course.
I found out about this because Geoff happened to be looking up stuff on the internet the other night.
Um, anyway, the blogger who shall go unmentioned can't be writing about me, er, can she? Possibly. There seem to be a few too many coincidences ...
I published an off the cuff post a few months ago which was a hasty response to a TV interview with a journalist/writer. She had a blog which she'd used as a platform to promote her writing. I'd not read the blog in question at the time.
I couldn't remember exactly what I'd written and had to re-read the post. It was written in bloody July after all! I was relieved to find out that the opinions expressed are ones I'd still stand by, and agree with a lot of the comments that were made by other bloggers.
Hmm, I'd better come back with some sort of response to her though - because I'm a sad failure who has nothing better to do. I'm not appearing at village fetes or hanging out snorting coke at Bungalow 8 with Michelle McManus, Gloria Hunniford and Vernon Kay, or whatever it is you do when you're a hugely successful writer. Boo hoo for me then.
Look, I really don't want to have to mention this again here, because it seems to be my endless and irritating theme, but ... I AM A BLOGGER, NOT A WRITER.
I will hold my hands up and say that my writing is crappy, ill thought out, pointless ranting. There are a few spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. My knowledge of the English language comes from a bog standard 1970's comprehensive school education. Middle class people have a problem with the "poor" use of the English language. It's one of the things they use to beat down the lower orders with, along with the fact that *we* all eat Iceland ready meals and burgers straight from the freezer rather than cooking everything *from scratch* for three days on the Aga.
What I love about blogging is that it gives people from supposedly ordinary backgrounds a chance to express themselves. If they only have an audience of three people who they already know, if what they write about is of limited interest, if the blog isn't even that good - who gives a fuck? It's a form of self expression and communication.
I love the diversity of the people who blog, the lack of rules, the way bloggers link to others, the spontaneity, the informality, the eclecticism and, often, the writing.
What I don't like is the implication that there is a hierarchy of bloggers, and that the ones with the biggest audiences and the book deals are the only bloggers that matter.
They may be the ones who'll be interviewed on Radio Four, or featured in arts supplements. Good luck to them. It's great that they've got ahead in that way.
However, the fact that someone has a book deal, a big audience and a shed load of money doesn't instantly mean that they're "good". If this were the case, the writers of Beyond The Implode or Ritual Landscape would be raking the cash in. Hah!
Strange, isn't it, that said blogger who shall go unmentioned really, really thinks that all bloggers yearn to write a book and get a book deal and make loads of money, and we are jealous of the fact that she has worked as a journalist for fifty years, man and boy, and her blog is a fuck of a fuck of a lot betterer and betterer and more popular than anyone else's blog and, by the way, and, not a lot of people know this, we are all jealous of these facts.
Can't speak for all of you, but I don't want a book deal. I wanted to be an author when I was eight years old, and then I grew out of it. The only other thing I ever really wanted to be was Debbie Harry when I was fifteen ... or did I really just want to *have* Debbie Harry? Probably both.
I like the anonymity of blogging. I don't publish pictures of myself or talk about my private life in any detail and I've not met any other bloggers. Not really my type of thing. I'm a social phobic and find it easier to write stuff down than talk to people. Get over it. I have.
So, no - I'm not going to write my own book and I'm not going to make a shed load of money and I'm not going to be interviewed by Richard And Judy. You know what? I'm really fucking happy about that because I'm happy enough with my real life.
I'm pretty sure that at least one or two of my, hem hem, "blogging penpals" aren't writing novels and don't have a desire to do so either.
In fact, the thing I really object to in the post written by the blogger who shall go unmentioned is the use of the term "blogging penpals" (aka low earning failures in life who don't have any real friends). Shouldn't someone who's a seasoned and successful writer and who has been on the Charles Wheeler-style journalism frontline for several hundred years call them "civilians"?
Anyway, rant over for another day. I'm off to collect Thomasina from her Greek Studies class, and Max has to have cello tuition ... sigh ... when will the fun ever start?
Labels: being consumed by jealousy, civilians, I am considerably richer than you, Judith O'Reilly, looking down on the lower orders, my blog is much betterer than your blog, penpals, the blogosphere
