Friday, April 24, 2015


You write on the train.
You write on sticky notes, through three journals, in the margins of books - any thought that pops into your head, that feels worth exploring.
You leave little snippets of your life discarded across Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, Youtube, MS Word. You collect them, you pull at the ends of letters and transform the words into something else, a memory, an idea, a sentence starting with 'I wonder...'
You make artworks, videos, poems, trying to build a solid foundation to work from. 
You lay out all your insecurities, anxieties, inside jokes and life experience, however meager, and place it into some kind of order that makes a narrative sense to you, maybe some mindset you were in ten, five, two minutes ago, maybe two years, two days. 

I realised earlier tonight that I have now been writing on this blog for one and a half years, that's a lot of superbly random posts that have appeared in the archives here. Some have been very raw thoughts written while still half in the incubation period, some have been very thought-out processes. It's been half like keeping a journal and half like writing for a magazine, and if I ever write for a magazine I hope I'm writing a philosophy column.

I started this little project in December 2013, and even though I don't really remember why I started it it's proven to be a handy little thing. I've always written essays online, but never really had a cohesive place to put them, blogging is also handy to entertain a little narcissism in the way of taking photos and writing about silly things.

It's also become handy as a place to write about more serious things, like when I need an outlet for a character I'm psycho-analysing the crap out of in a story I'm writing, or when I want to write something really impassioned, the kind of essay I used to hand in in my philosophy class. And it's useful to write about fun things, like when we went to the Gaultier exhibition. And, interestingly enough my blog has become a source of income for me - not in that the hit count is enough to earn ad revenue, in that I slapped that URL on my resume and suddenly somehow managed to score work copywriting.

Unfortunately however, I think my blog has also turned me into one of those people who write about writing more than they actually write what they want to be writing, or maybe that's my degree. Like that little piece of micro-writing in italics above? Ya see that? that's about the most 'proper' writing I've done all week.

Another unfortunate side of blogging is the sometimes stress-induced anxiety that can come from letting your thoughts run free, or sharing your work in any form, through the world wide web. I feel quite lucky that this blog is a writing space, and the only people I've ever really known to read it are my friends and family, because it means I can use it as a creative space, a space to mess around with, to write semi-beserk meaningless crap, semi-meaningful creative pieces and then, whatever.

The format of writing a blog is fluid, it's a kind of process diary. It seems important to document the things that pop in and out of my head, the different personalities and cycles of ideas that come from different periods of thinking and living and writing. It's also funny as fuck reading back through my really weird posts that for some reason seem to always come off as making me seem like a used car salesman.

So, a reflection on eighteen months in writing this blog...

I wonder what subjects I'll write about in the next eighteen months.