As the eponymous title suggests, this is my first foray into blogging. After a small chat with Ana B, (herself a blogger of many years), on Friday; I decided to pick up sticks. It's taken a while. Although I have been keeping diaries for eleven years. The first one - a blue bound, gilt edged puppy with an incongrous gold Reebok design stencilled on the front, resides with E, in Bearwood. It was one of my proudest moments to exchange this book for two, maybe three of her memoirs. She was sixteen at the time of writing. I was seventeen.
I continue writing. Not every day, as I used to back then. In fact I've decided to do away with a dated diary for a year, instead using a blank ruled notebook : plain and unassuming, functional. The result is perhaps closer to one of the many areas of writing I've been exploring in my formative years as a diarist: recording thoughts without interruption. I mistrust the term stream of conciousness - the watery element I like, the adaptability of it. But it sounds wishy washy. Automatic writing sounds like you're just feeding words into a gun and letting rip. I don't know. At a guess, my writing falls somewhere in between; perhaps as a means of excusing my awful grammar or avoiding the self imposed regimentation that diary keeping can fall into. Either way, here's to't.