I’m not sure yet about blogging. But I want to write. And the writing has to live somewhere.
When I began writing in November last year, it was on Instagram. I enjoyed creating images and posting what I wanted to share. I also enjoyed the immediacy of IG. There was a sense of community because I was writing for a small and quite specific audience. And online and real-life friendships were made.
But I never felt that Instagram was the place for ‘real writing’. It doesn’t allow for longer form pieces. It has a ‘here now, gone tomorrow’ feel. And I wanted my words to have more permanence.
So, I’m giving the blog format a try. Not knowing what I’m doing really. Yet. And not caring too much, to be honest. I just want to write. Because I’m writing for myself.
And because I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m aware of it, there’s a certain freedom. I have few expectations and no idea of how to grow a readership. I could find out, of course. I could learn how to chase traffic etc. But then I’d be following a different path. And I want to follow a writing path.
When I first began writing on IG, I had no expectations and not much understanding of how it worked. But I slowly worked it out. I also had no idea if anyone would find me. Or read my posts. It was a very nice surprise when people did respond and comment.
It’s like that again now. I’m writing. No-one is reading. And that’s OK. I told someone last week of my plan to move some of my writing to this site. I told her it would be quite okay if there were no readers or ‘likes’. I think she believed me, but I’m not sure that I did 🤔 (Do we use emojis in blogging? I don’t know 😕)
Anyway, I’m here. For whatever reason. Talking to myself. Writing for myself. And that’s enough. It really is 😊
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Photo – Journal in shop window, Lyon. August 30, 2022
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