Townsend, Cooper or Bennett? What Kind of Writer Am I?

The title of this latest musing leaves me feeling a bit uncomfortable. I’d like to think I am a writer, I would like to make a living as a writer, I dream of turning into a proper writer and of being at dinner parties where, when that dreadful, universal question inevitably drops into the conversation, I can look all bashful and mutter humbly, yet without any pretence (but with ill-hidden pride), that I do, in fact, play with words legitimately and constructively, and not just for fun – but professionally!

But I can’t. I simply can’t.

Instead, I pretend to be a writer. I have written bizarre stories, crap poems, irrelevant articles and even dodgy plays over the years. I’ve come up with naff messages for greetings cards, and made up heartfelt eulogies (yes, eulogies). Yet I have never – well, almost never – done any of this professionally.

But thanks to modern technology and The Interweb, I needn’t let that put me off, for here, at my fingertips, is my very own forum, my publisher, my stage! And because I find it so very cathartic to get stuff down in “print”, I am going to try to prioritise my blog. To write more often, and to try not to see it as a waste of my time.

Which brings me back to the question: what kind of writer am I?

Amateur, yes. Sporadic? Certainly. Eclectic? Oh, for sure. But what is my genre? My theme? What is my inspiration? Who are my muses? The Four Little Seymours are definitely the providers of much of my “material”, hence the name of my site. But more recently, I have veered away from their antics, and focused on other things, too.

I have pondered whether I could try to make my blog more specialist. Could I give it a parenting theme? Or make it a renovation magazine? A lifestyle journal? Or a fashion page? Could I be an “influencer”? Nah, I think not. My look and my life are not exactly coveted. I’m just too “warts ‘n all”.  Perhaps I should go down the comedy route…? Apparently, I am hilarious. To five year-olds.

But at the end of all that hard brain ache, I realise that I simply cannot focus on one subject. I can’t do it! My brain is so all over the place that it never stays still long enough to be an expert on anything. (It feels good to finish a short blog post – it’s a huge achievement in fact, because everything else I start never gets finished.) I know a bit about most things, and everything about nothing. Consequently, I will never make money out of blogging.

This is a shame, but I won’t worry about it. Writing should be enjoyable (especially if you don’t earn anything doing it), and so, I must conclude once and for all that my blog is simply brain spew. It is stuff I think of, people I’ve met, places I’ve been to. Essentially, my blog is made up of observations and ponderings of life itself. It’s a diary! Eclectic it will stay. More eccentric it may become. So, dear readers, hold on to your horses! I my get X-rated yet.

It gives me comfort, though, that some of my favourite writers have done the same. OK, they were all published authors by the time they were able to expect any interest in their own musings on ordinary life, but we’ll gloss over that. And I don’t think any of them blogged. They didn’t need to.

Sue Townsend, the genius creator of the Adrian Mole series, was a very talented writer, and in later life, she wrote a monthly article for the Sainsbury’s Magazine. Her short anecdotes covered a wide range of topics, from Aga sagas to Greek island breaks, to walking through the snow to meet her newborn grandchild . Each short story is expertly crafted with humour and love,  and, I should think, is 100 per cent true. When written well, real life is not mundane. It’s fascinating.

Alan Bennett is the master of contemporary observational writings – you only have to read about his experience with his van lady to know that there is not in fact anything quite so curious as folk. People are simply the most interesting things on Earth. Not always pleasant, but eternally surprising.

Jilly Cooper, one of my absolute icons, has also documented her life in diary form.The Common Years tells of her daily exploits whilst walking the green spaces of Putney in the 1980s. Simple things like the trees changing from one season to the next make for comforting reading. More complex subjects like her dog hunting other people’s pets – less so. Proof that life is never dull!

This blogging is horribly self-indulgent, I am well aware of that. Maybe if I got off the computer, I’d make time to clean the windows instead. And to consider myself in any way of the same ilk as the aforementioned writers is just plain pointless. Ahh, aspirations… a blessing and a curse.

But I am always encouraged when people say they’ve read my “stuff” – and amazed! I can only dare to hope there’s anyone out there absorbing this dross. So, if you really are reading this, then I am so very, very grateful. Even if you agree with me on the dross front. The possibility that someone is listening makes me plough on and as such, helps me to hone my skills in readiness for the big novel.

“Once Upon a Time in Rebecca’s Head”. Catchy? I think not. Scary? Most definitely. (And possibly even X-rated!)

🙂

(Read this. It’s far superior to anything I could come up with!)