Beginnings

How does one write a web log? And just when did our languages acquire the word ‘blog’ – a word which I have just had to add to the dictionary of my edition of Microsoft Word, but undoubtedly already exists in newer versions. I suppose that the idea of keeping a public diary which not only becomes a way of keeping record of one’s own existence but also a way of communicating it to one’s friends and something of a weekly (or even daily!) column by means of which it is possible to inflict thoughts and opinions on an innocent audience makes all kinds of efficient sense. Three wishes in one, as it were, and with the redeeming feature of being very unassuming: after all, nobody can force anyone else to read their blog. It is there, up for grabs, to be read by millions or nobody at all. So there, if the president of Iran can do it, so can I. Fewer people will read mine, fewer people, hopefully, will be offended.

Dear friends, some of you will remember the group-emails I sent from the road five years ago. Surely you haven’t forgotten ‘Fuggley’? I never will. It was always an interesting (and sometimes laborious!) task to find an internet café and there was usually just enough time to write one email, a travel narrative that went out to everyone. Most of them have been lost in cyberspace, but I remember how much fun it was to write them and the nice feeling of interconnectedness (as Dirk Gently would have it). This, I suppose, is a slightly updated version of the phenomenon. A way to let you know what I am doing and thinking; texts which you can peruse at leisure. It is also a very selfish way for me to efficiently combine the things I listed above – diary (which I never get around to writing when I have to use pen and paper), general info about what I am doing to people who want to know and, also quite importantly, an opportunity to write. In general. As most of you know I am, or should be, writing my dissertation on Elizabeth Bowen and writing is like any linguistic output – use it or lose it. This seems to be a wonderful way of using it, and killing lots of other birds with the same stone. As I was working on Virginia Woolf I found that she wrote, apart from her novels, articles, letters and kept an extensive diary. Every day. All the time. How she managed to spend so many hours reflecting, in writing, on her writing is beyond me, as is why she never complained of sore hands and why she never managed to get her punctuation quite ‘up to scratch’… If mine falters, do let me know. And if I bore you – stop reading!