On writing a blog

I’m not a fan of over-sharing, unless I’m sitting across from you at a dining table. A blog does not come naturally. What on Earth do people write about on their blogs, or post on slick Instagram photos, or comment incessantly on ill-advised social media boards turned playgrounds for the far-right? No morsel of knowledge or opinion popping into my head seems good enough to justify putting it out there, on a blog, to an imaginary audience. I prefer connecting with real people, one-on-one.

A novel is different, of course. A novel has its own life. It’s not me speaking to you, telling you about personal struggles or smug accomplishments, or even sharing thoughts on engrossing topics like abortion, the end of agriculture, what life might look like in other planets, gender battles, or how consciousness arises (those are themes covered in my novels, by the way). A novel runs on its own and leaves me behind, wondering how to catch up.

Yet here I am, writing a blog. There will be some degree of sharing, unavoidably. People buy into people. I’m not a celebrity. I’m not a journalist, an editor, or a professional closely related to the craft of writing. My career has been an awkward path between chance, need and passion. Writing is a passion too, but kept where it can’t become a chore, as a hobby.

So, despite feeling like pulling teeth, this blog is the best way of showing where the rest of my words come from, and hopefully connecting with you, the imaginary reader. Consider it a starter, or a side dish, and my novels the main meal. If my attempt at connecting fails, alas – perhaps we should sit at a dining table and simply have a chat.