A blog about blogging
I don’t really count as a blogger. Even though it’s starting to look as if I now have a blog. There is (after all) a book to write, a kitchen to dig out from under the breakfast dishes, lurchers to walk, a couple of horses (not mine) to ride. Mainly a book to write, a subject I’d rather not discuss at the moment due to it (still) giving me trouble. I have to keep remembering Justin Case, who I wanted to strangle at frequent intervals throughout his creation. There is No Dog is getting there, but it’s rather like digging a deep deep hole. Through granite.
And you can forget the smile, too.
But enough about me. Book bloggers have my undying admiration. Those hard-working, hard-reading book-lovers who’ve wrestled the job of reviewing away from a handful of paid professionals, and whose voices have gone from zero to sixty in the past ten years, from relative obscurity to world domination. And with the future of newspapers in doubt, where will the power end?
I won’t say I always agree with them on books I love/hate, but I’m always impressed by the passion and the thoughtfulness of tone. Unless of course they hate my books, which tends to hurt my feelings and send me down to the kitchen for another cup of tea and (another) biscuit. Custard creams, by preference, though I never buy them.