Over the past few days I have been thinking about my involvement in the internet - the blogs I write, the communities I participate in, and the blogs I read.
The internet has slowly and insidiously grown it’s tentacles into my life. If a spare moment presents itself on a morning, or while locking the doors on an evening, I will invariably wander into the study and check my email. While walking into town I often login via mobile phone. I listen to podcasts, and read RSS feeds.
The internet has almost completely replaced the mainstream media in my life. I cannot remember the last time I switched the radio on, or made the conscious decision to sit and watch a television programme. Even visits to the cinema have become rare.
In the middle of this information filled life, I find myself recording. Writing in blogs, in writing pads, and on scraps of paper. I try to remember that which has interested me, and never do. Unless it’s on the screen it may well have never happened.
The results of my writing generally ends up in blog posts, or in comments to other’s blog posts. I find myself wondering why I bother - what is it that drives those who write personal blogs to share their lives? Of what use is it? Who does it benefit, and why?
I wonder why some blogs become popular - and if I ever want mine to become popular. I also realise I am something of a rare breed - a male blogger who writes about daily life. The vast majority are female. Often while reading and commenting, I am aware that I’m the only guy in the room - sometimes in the town.
I worry about accidentally letting too much information out - particularly about the children. I worry about talking out of turn, saying the wrong thing, being controversial, and hurting people’s feelings.
And yet I still write.