It’s an interesting
position to be in; best placed to write about virgin blogs, as not having  written one is my reality, but not yet skilled
as a blogger. I am saved from the nadir of experience by having now written 41
words.

Challenges crowd in on
first hitting the keyboard, vying for their opportunity to blast you off course.
How long should it be? No point in rambling on like an over-caffeinated sports
presenter. Yet if your answer to “How would you describe yourself?” would be
“Concise”, then perhaps you’re not a natural blogger.

What makes the maiden
voyage made in heaven, not mayday, could be a cool head, but burning desire to
write. The danger is if the two combine they will create dense steam. Dense is
never good for a writer. Ranks right up there with lethargy, Alzheimer’s and
de-caffeination. Keep heart and head separate. Never let the brain know what
your heart is feeling. Dangerous business. Ask any romance writer.

Oddly enough, there is
no problem with ideas crowding into my over-populated mind; they seem to have a
hydra like quality; as one is nailed, two more take its place. Reminds me of
being a naive traveller. I believed at that time that once you visited places,
they were deleted from the global ‘to go to’ list; becoming an ex- factor. Then
I discovered they simply transfer from ‘not visited’ to the ‘must go back’ pile;
meanwhile others add themselves. Ten on a list with one visited becomes one
down, eleven to go. My maths is shaky, but even to me that seems Lewis Carrollesque.
Only one frenetic, hot sprawling city will no longer experience the joy of my diminutive
tourist budget: a solitary city crossed off my future itinerary, the exception
proving uncool.

There is undoubted value
in defragging the mind. So put plume to parchment all you historical authors,
apply fingers to keyboard contemporary types, or if like me, a children’s writer,
take crayon and scribble pad. Give your thoughts immortality. Remove them from
the half-light of the hamster wheel state, constantly revolving, going nowhere.
The process is cathartic. But is it addictive? I have yet to find out. Do not
attempt to watch this space, as isn’t one any longer. But consider watching the
gaps sitting somewhere in the future which will fill as thoughts are gradually weeded
out and placed somewhere more permanent than the diminishing RAM that is my cerebrum. As soon as I’ve worked out
if it’s compulsive, I’ll write and let you know, possibly from the authors’
de-tox centre where all laptops are banned, and the mantra is ‘Just don’t do
it.’

Until now I had
written four full length novels; about 300,000 words. But no blog.

Virgin on the
ridiculous.