Right well, it’s now or never. Let the last vestiges of dignity be stripped away. It’s time to step blinking, embarrassed and very much daunted into the limelight of the blogosphere, and allow the last few feathers and rhinestones of my tattered self-respect to be blown away by icy blasts of public scrutiny. Until now I’ve led a pretty respectable life – I’ve been a journalist and a civil servant, and am now a wife and mother. It really should have been enough for anyone. But no. Some weird compulsion, some pesky, unsilenceable voice in my foolish head, has driven me to become – whisper it in shame – an aspiring writer. See, there, I’ve said it!
Until now, this has been my guilty secret. It’s very easy to scribble away in the privacy of one’s own kitchen and hope that this should somehow be enough to guarantee literary success. But the reality is that if you actually want to reach an audience, you have to put yourself out there. For many of us – shy, retiring creatures that we are – it doesn’t come naturally, and I’ve spent quite a few months in denial. Do I really need to write a blog – won’t it be awfully time-consuming? And anyway, what would I put in the darned thing? And who on this good earth could possibly be interested in the witterings of yet another lady writer? But excuses are all they are; there are no convenient let-out clauses. The fact of the matter is writers these days need blogs. So here goes.