April 16th 2015

Today consisted of much of the same as yesterday. I worked with my Dad again. And on the way to the place where we were working he asked me to read my blog post from yesterday to him. Usually my Mum reads it to him in the morning because she’s got the glasses. But today Mum said that yesterday’s post was “too long to read aloud” so I had to do it instead.

And it was quite a weird experience.

When I write these posts I don’t really think that anyone is going to read them, so it’s even stranger to have to actually and physically read one to someone. I was more concious reading it to him than I was when I was writing it. Reading it aloud I found myself paraphrasing, or editing my sentences to make them work better, rather than just repeating it parrot fashion, and I don’t know why I did that. I guess I realised that perhaps the sentence was too clumsy for spoken word, but worked well on the page.

I don’t get ridiculous views on my posts, but I’m now aware that there are actual people reading what I’m writing. Which is odd. Usually when something is written it has the purpose of being read. Right? People write newspapers, to sell newspapers, so people will read newspapers. Articles are written and books are published and songs are lyricised (a word I’ve just made up to avoid repeating “written”) so someone will read them (or in the latter case, listen to them)

But for me, with this, I just kind of write it. If I wanted lots of people to read it I would publicise it more, I would make use of tagging and categories to grow my audience. But I just like to write.

At the moment, I know that maybe 4/5 of my family members consistently read my posts, but before I told them about it, it was just like me talking to myself. The feeling that (some) people want to read what I have to say is odd, but hopefully it’s one that I will get used to.

Until tomorrow, I won’t sell many books if I don’t.



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