Blogging: Learning To Let Go

A few more words about letting go with your blog.

The technical people. The authors, the marketers. They’ll be cringing at some of the points I’ve made. 

I get it. 

And I’m still saying, let go. Your blog, you see, is like drinking a nice cool pint at the end of a hot day at work. And if pints aren’t your thing, substitute for whatever you like. 

The point is, I find that letting rip on my blog makes it easier for me to write the straight stuff for work. But even then, I don’t stick the proverbial rod up my back. 

Because I’ve learned how to write with freedom. You can be professional without sounding like a machine. And if you think that’s an anti-AI rant, it’s not. I use AI. For research. For brainstorming. It’s brilliant. The writing? All me. Because I need to sound like me. Unfiltered, human. 

Yeah, that’s it, folks. Even when I’m writing a report or something for work? I keep my “fuck it” hat on. So that I don’t wander too far into po-faced territory. 

Sometimes, I’ll write a LinkedIn post in the same way I write my novels. This voice you are reading now. Because it’s me. Raw and unfiltered. Then, for work, I run through it and clean up. Tighten and add/remove to make sure I don’t damage the reputation of the company I work for. 

But that’s as far as I go. I once wrote a piece for LinkedIn, making clear that we were on the hunt for a new developer. I made the point that anyone who didn’t like Custard Cream biscuits need not apply. It was a laugh, a light-hearted take on the role. 

People loved it. I had QA Analysts messaging me saying they understood I was looking for a dev. But could they come and work for us. Because we sounded like a fun place to work. 

See? 

Nobody needs to write as if they’ve got something sharp sticking in their left arse cheek. Instead, write like this. You walked down the road with your left arse cheek hanging out of your trousers, and didn’t realise. When you realised? You left it. Making out it was normal. You always wear ventilated trousers. 

—But mate, I can see yer left arse cheek. 

—Yeah? What of it?

—Nobody needs to see that.

—Don’t look, then. 

—Well, yeah. But get proper trousers. Eh? How about that?

—They are proper trousers. With ventilation. 

—Right…

See? Reframe how you think about “serious” writing. Trousers with ventilation, optional.