Like every wise man I operate in thrall to my womenfolk. One of those womenfolk helps me manage this blog. Readers might have observed the blog stuttering in its cantering gait recently. I have slipped from my regular Monday and Friday postings, to no-one’s great regret. Noting this delinquency the Blogmeistress has commanded me to address my readers with some questions. She says I need to ask you what you want me to write about. The conversation went like this:
BLOGMEISTRESS: Ask your readers what they want.
BLOGMEISTRESS: Why what?
HG: Why bother them? They’re enjoying the rest.
B/MEISTRESS: You need to blog, so you’ll reach new readers…
B/MEISTRESS: Why what?
HG: Why do I need readers – old or new – of my blog?
B/MEISTRESS: You need blog followers so they’ll become readers of your books: your writing is OK; it’s just your attitude to technology that stinks. You write passably but all three of your books have been worstsellers. You need to get known.
HG: Look, no-one, not a single person has written begging me for a new post. No-one misses them. A blog that appears on your screen twice a week is an imposition. I’m giving them a break.
B/MEISTRESS: Blog – or fail as a writer!
HG: When I blog I fail because I take time and energy away from serious writing.
BM: Blogging is serious. You’re an appalling snob. You’re going to fail.
So, dear reader, dear slumbering follower, here are the questions a wise man must ask:
What would you like me to write about?
The news – all miserable – that I whinge about already?
My moral quandaries, in which I flail and thrash in a mighty masturbation of the conscience?
Oddities, trivial observations, exercises in whimsy and gentle self-mockery? Or would you prefer brutal self-mockery?
Family stories? Isn’t your own family is just as lunatic as mine?
Here is the question I am forbidden to ask: Could you care less?
Sorry to disturb your hard-earned respite.