I'm guessing the novelty will wear off. A bit like it used to on or around the second week of January when as a teenager we'd vowed to keep a diary. I've a fair number of those squirreled away - the first pristine sheets covered in the neatest handwriting as every event, meal, thought was recorded in absolute detail. After a few days there is less detail until that fateful day when there is no entry. In all likelihood there will have been a frantic attempt to catch up at some point but it is obvious from the factual state of the entries "went into town with Susan" "had egg and chips for tea" that this was written at a later date. The essence and the joy of a diary or journal is surely capturing the immediacy of the experience whilst the emotion is still fresh.
There's a place for reflection too of course. Perhaps even more so in a blog rather than a diary? None of us would ever have dreamt that our teenage diaries would be read by anyone but ourselves. Nightmares perhaps that our mothers may find them... But here in blogland we are asking, inviting, others to join the journey, engage and comment. So we - well certainly I - feel the need to say something profound. Or at the very least a little bit interesting. All part of the showing off perhaps…?
Which leads to today's thought for the day I suppose. Someone else is reading my blog. I know because they told me. They haven't commented yet - and I look forward to them doing so with a measure of nervousness and excitement. I am hardly Samuel Pepys, and wouldn't dare to compare myself with Bridget
Will the knowledge that they may recognise characters in the story – who may very well actually be real people living or dead – change the way in which I write about them?
Someone else will be weighing my words, considering my opinions, engaging, judging, arguing maybe. Should that – need that – influence what is written here? We shall see…