I seem to have lost my writing mojo.
There was a time when something would happen to me, and I’d instantly think: ‘I should blog about that.’
Falling over whilst running for a bus? I should blog about that.
Jemima does such a vicious poo she could do with being hosed down? I should blog about that.
…but it just doesn’t come to me any more.
I guess that if I thought about it I could put it down to two things. One: I have a newborn, and it’s difficult to type when one of your arms is trapped under a baby. I’m getting much, much less sleep as well, finding myself burping Jemima at 4 in the morning when there’s not enough light in the room to trigger any colour and everything’s blurry because I haven’t got my glasses on.
The second reason is going to sound utterly egotistical, but recently I’ve become very aware that I can’t – and often don’t – please everyone; and, as such, I find myself re-thinking everything I’m about to tweet, or every blog post I’m about to write. I can’t stand offending people, so when I incur the wrath of angry militants who misinterpret the title of my book and blog, or just basement-dwellers who love a good argument, it affects me, and I almost feel restricted in what I can and can’t write.
Stupid, I know. There was a time when I would write whatever the heck I wanted in some kind of naive gleeful innocence, because not many people stumbled across my blog and I had no idea that it would enjoy any modicum of popularity. I look back on some of those early posts and feel a little ashamed at my foolishness (for want of a better word – it’s getting late). I do sound like a right insensitive prat in some of them. But they are what have made this blog what it is, and to reject every daft word I’ve written would be stupidity.
Over the next few months I’m going to be shifting my focus. I want to enter a bunch of short story competitions in an effort to beef up my CV. I’ll also be touting myself about like a cheap hooker to get more regular paid writing work: lately I’ve been fortunate enough to land a column at Parentdish, and would like more of the same. And, hopefully, the next twelve months or so will be spent plugging ‘How I Came To Hold You’, and grabbing whatever opportunities (if any) that brings with both hands.
I feel like I’m in a long-term relationship in which the couple is beginning to grow apart. I’m increasingly getting the feeling that the ‘Goodbye, Pert Breasts’ chapter of my life is coming to an end, which hopefully means a more exciting one is beginning. Evolution not revolution, as they say.
Fear not – I’ll never give up blogging, and will forever be proud of the book which has made hundreds of people laugh (and a few get really, really narked). Through blogging I’ve met some incredible people, and had some brilliant experiences and opportunities, and I’d be daft to let that go.
I dunno. Maybe I’m just over-tired. You mustn’t think I’m turning into some kind of stuffy idiot with no sense of humour, by the way. I just think that, after nearly three years, I need to concentrate on other things. Anyway, I have to stop typing. There’s a baby resting on my left forearm, and now I can’t feel my fingers.