Why this Blog

Ok, this oughta be fun… About a month ago an acquaintance told me that I should launch a blog. I said “What for? People don’t read blogs; they just write them”. She said I should stop second-guessing people, to which I replied that I was a writer… how the hell was I supposed to make a living? She said that reality’s greater than fiction. Well, that’s true, if you believe in reality. And besides, writing is hard work, you know? Have you ever tried writing a novel… or a screenplay, for that matter? She told me that we (I guess she meant “writers”) were very keen on discussing how Arts had to transform to meet the New Media requirements, but were very reluctant to give in ourselves for the greater good; we don’t want to admit that we won’t live from selling books (or screenplays, for that matter) unless we were J.K. Rowling, of course, and that Blogs are the writers' future. To reach an audience (and potential producers) you have to write about things that people really care for, like football or urban planning. I told her I didn’t care for those things (a stinking lie) and that there were plenty of people much more qualified to do so. She retorted that, evidently, I was taking my writing too seriously.

You could tell she’d never read any of my stuff.

And damn it! I hate it when a smart-ass you barely know can tell you in a second exactly what’s wrong with you. It proves that you’re not even close to that mysterious girl you’re trying so hard to be. She said that it was time for writers to stop hiding in our shells and face our readers in real time. We should let them comment and get back to us on anything we do, because readers (as reality ambassadors) have greater ideas on any subject, no matter how silly. And that’s what people want: to be heard and documented!

Well, simple statistics should prove her right.

Yesterday, something funny happened to me. I disconnected, I ran away from the world (as I always do when I’m working). I started playing some of my mp3’s (it was about 1.00 AM), singing the lyrics between sips of coffee. I discovered that a couple of neighbours had taken their chairs to the balcony and were sitting in the cool breeze, cuddling, listening to my music, nodding their heads to the rhythm every once in a while, giggling if I missed a note.

Jeez… it was kind of flattering, but what’s ever happened to privacy, people?! Theirs and mine?! I guess there’re no more private places on earth; whatever you do, whatever you let anybody do to you, is meant to be advertised, posted, shared with the rest of humanity, transformed into something greater than it really is: Documentation of silly, meaningless moments.

I know what you’re about to say… What makes us think that novels are in any way different? Go ask Proust.

Ok, here you are, I’m writing a blog, I’m documenting some meaningless moments for anyone to examine. I haven’t told any of my friends about this (and it shouldn’t matter anyway, as statistically, 90% of your readers are people you don’t know. Thank god for that!).

I decided to write in either English or Spanish, according to my mood. I don’t mean to translate any of these entries. So I guess I should apologize in advance.

Hum… my apologies.

Bye for now.

Pinker Mint