The Nonsense Guide To Blogging

Hello, people of the interweb thingy wotsit.

Sorry for the normal-ish title. My brain does that sometimes — tries to be serious, but then a pun bursts in through the letterbox wearing comedy trousers and a large hat.

The trouble with being serious is: it’s serious. And serious is a bit dry. Possibly flammable. Definitely beige.

I prefer to write from the edge of sanity. I balance there like an elephant on a bar stool. Teetering. Flailing. Occasionally trumpeting in surprise.

Of course, that’s me being fanciful. It’s not the edge of sanity. It’s just the place where I let my imagination play unsupervised. So if I want to anthropomorphise a kettle (a word that sounds like it should be banned under a regulation of some sort), I can.

Why?
Why not?

I could write like a proper blogger. Use phrases like “user journey” and “as a content creator…” But frankly, I’d rather be ambushed by a jazz quartet made of spoons.

See, readers expect a certain tone. But what if they were delighted (or gently traumatised) to find a blog that insists pigeons know things? Or that trees are wiser than your average YouTuber?

It is my (possibly malfunctioning) belief that writing weird is not just allowed — it’s vital.

Who wants to blog like the other 10 gazillion blogs out there? I counted them once in my sleep. One of them was just “banana-banana-banana,” and it had 800 followers.

Writing like a rhinoceros in a shop full of porcelain giraffes guarantees something will break.

And broken, in this case, means honest. The good stuff falls out of the cracks. And then tap-dances across the tiles.

Yes, I do talk to my kettle. Politely. And yes, my toaster does occasionally assist with plot structure. Somewhere in all this, reality packed its bags and left the building via the cat flap.

Right. Focus.

The point of this post?
There is one.

Writing this way — this gloriously unhinged, sideways, fruit-scented way — allows me to be creative in ways I never imagined. And that, dear boggers (yes, boggers, embrace it), feels far more importanter than being proper.

Go forth. Break a sentence. Write like a malfunctioning doorbell in a sock drawer.

You’ll be in fine company.

Now, I must dash. I have to see if my arse looks big in this blog. Whatever that means.