A Blog sounds very daunting, but following a wonderful day at Bodies in the Bookshop in Cambridge, I decided that if I am ever going to attract the attention of a wider audience and be published, I have to blog. And have a proper writer-y (think I just invented that, but I’m sticking with it) a proper writer-y website.
All of this is a tad awkward.
I mean, I am used to the computer, obviously. Mostly. Provided it does what I want, when I want it and it doesn’t decide to have a nervous breakdown just when I finally stop making endless cups of coffee and decide to sit on my chair in front of it. Setting up blogs and web pages, though, is a different animal altogether.
Not that I haven’t done it before. I had a website for ages, through which I sold my hand painted silk scarves and hand crafted felt creations. It was easy enough. Set up through a free site, upload a pile of photos, add a bit of blurb and a price. Factor in PayPal and off you go. However, and it is a big however, if I want the new blog and site to work, to promote what I do, then it has to be, well, good. Good enough to catch the attention of those hallowed beings, the Publishers.
(Quick bow, lower eyes, genuflect).
So, these pages need to form an example not just of who I am and what I do, but who I might become and what I can persuade you to feel as a result of what I do.
Stephen King says it’s about telepathy and I can only agree. He tells a tale of a white rabbit in a cage on a red tablecloth, but let me see if I can make you see what I am visualising right now.
On the computer screen in front of you, just visible in the very bottom of the right hand corner, there is a tiny black mark. Can you see it?
As you watch, the mark grows. It is longer now, not a full stop but a fully formed dash, stretching into a line, thickening and becoming hairy as it pushes fully into view through that little hole in the screen you didn’t know was there. Waving around, feeling its way into your world. Following on from this leg, for it is a black hairy leg, comes another one and you know that there are six more where those two came from, together with a fat hairy body.
Wave your hand, wave him away. There he’s gone.
But where did he go? Is there another hole in the screen, another place from which to scuttle out? Yes, he’s there to your left, on the periphery of your vision. You turn, he is gone. The back of your neck is itching and you reach to scratch, even though you know there is nothing there. You do know that, don’t you? The tickle on your back, in the centre of your back, is only that, a tickle, a minor irritation, possibly from that new shower gel you tried this morning. And the prickle on your scalp, what is causing that? You scratch. You have to scratch. The top of your left arm is tingling now, on your shoulder, and beside your left eye there is a crawling sensation. You tell yourself there is nothing, yet you cannot resist touching your left temple. Your scalp is inflamed now, burning and itching right at the front on your hairline because it’s there isn’t it? That spider, yes, spider, that hairy tarantula that you waved away is back, sitting in your hair, crawling over your head, making your spine tingle.
So, did it? Did it make your spine tingle just a little? Did you scratch? I hope so, not because I am a complete sadist, but because that telepathy from writer to reader is what I hope to create. I want to make you laugh, make you cry, make you shiver and sometimes I want to make you itch enough to scratch, so that the experience of reading my writing will fulfil you and make you eager for more.
Thank you for reading if you have been.