The humble blog

So I was going back through the digital archives of my University life, aided by a name search on google (and I'm not ashamed to admit it- I am certain I am not the only person to type their own name into google to veto and edit the results before potential objects of desire/employers/old school friends stumble across that ancient and face-reddening book review or first website) This mainly consisted of ageing articles/columns/rants from my University newspaper aptly named 'Concrete,' (a reflection on the ziggurat monstrosities created by an ambitious sixties architect, not on the nature or quality of the writing or humour), self-indulgent and pretentious myspace posts and oddments of creative writing including unfinished stories, snatches of paragraphs, underdeveloped images,- stored for use in later stories, and Carol Ann Duffy-wannabe style poetry. Anyway, not only did this show me that my writing wasn't quite as terrible as I remember but it also reignited my interest in the humble and somewhat purposeless internet blog. Perhaps the pleasure lies in possible voyeurism it conjures- perhaps someone will read it, be it a friend, a stranger or a curious male with a vested interest. Surely authors such as Plath, Woolf and Mansfield only bothered to construct such elaborate and comprehensive diary entries because they had a sneaking supposition that one day, their lives may be of great interest and therefore were written with a critical and analysing eye. Or perhaps it will lay buried and unread forever, floating precariously in cyberspace, forgotten but recorded. Its the uncertainty thats thrilling...