Wry observer

I got some feedback from a regular reader this morning saying that my last post – Old books, previous lives – was the best thing I’d posted in some time. While it is nice to get some positive feedback, there was also an implicit criticism in the comment. Unspoken was the comment that a lot of the stuff I’ve written over the last little while wasn’t quite as much fun to read.

I get it. I understand completely. I’ve been caught up in a whirlwind, and it’s hard to contemplate, let alone write, anything else. A lot of the stuff is grim, though I do my best to describe it with a bit of dash. Still, there’s no getting away from the fact that unless you’re living it it’s not what you want to read.

In actual fact this whole conversation harks back to something I wrote a few weeks ago. I am who I need to be now, but I can’t get wait to return to the person I really think I am. In terms of this blog that’s quite different to what you see now.

I used to approach this blog as a wry and thoughtful observer of life. There I was looking upon things, trying to understand and decipher them, things for the most part external to myself I would take time to explore in my writing. Generally I would find something, often something quite small, that aroused curiosity in me, and I would begin to write. Typically I would not know exactly what I was going to say until I came to say it. That was how I came to understand, by writing about it – I discovered at the same time as you did.

In recent times it’s been all about me. Instead of the detached observer I’ve been the combatant in the middle of the action, and my writing has reflected that. If it’s any consolation, it’s a lot easier reading about it than it is living it.

I’m hoping all that will end soon. As I replied this morning I look forward to mellow months ahead. I may not achieve mellow, but one way or another it must be quieter. In regards to my writing that can only be good – I want to be that wry observer once again. Stick with me.

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