A friend wrote recently about the amount of time she spends blogging. This fortunately isn’t a danger for me, as my time is strictly limited. When exactly will the children leave home? I have found though that the temptation is to write my post rather than to sit down and research or write some of the novel.
People do respond differently when you tell them that you have a blog. I rarely talk to my brother, fond though I am of him, because he lives in Central Asia. Conversational exchanges are limited by the availability of phone lines, electricity and general vagaries of survival in a very much “less developed nation.” Recently we had a rare clear line and a rarer long conversation. Between discussions of bureaucracy, rats, cultural differences and our respective offspring, I mentioned that I had a blog, in reply to why I rarely email nowadays. His immediate response was concern about preventing people taking my ideas. I pointed out that the story itself isn’t on the blog, just some of the things I have found out and thoughts about the process itself. Even if the information is used, the same novel wouldn’t be produced. And I told him and remind you that all the material on this site is copyright. He still seemed very doubtful about the whole process. Given that he is moving to a place where he will require a satellite system or carrier pigeons to connect to the outside world, I don’t think he will be a devoted reader.
Other friends respond with vague horror: “I never thought you were the blogging type.” Or even worse, sympathy poured out towards my partner as the non-blogging half. Apparently a blogging partner is a contemporary form of trauma.
On the strength of my blogging I have also been asked to help out with the design and content of the Marburg Residents’ Association webpage. Another example of the dangers thereof.