Write! said Fred

It's been way, way too long.

This summer, I gave myself permission for a small hiatus from blogging, but it ended up as an extended period of stagnation fueled by sweaty weather, general stress and strain, the joys of living as a multi-generational family in a smallish summer house (with just one TV - shock! horror!) and simply not enough hours in the day.

But you'll be pleased to hear (won't you?) that I'm about to kick-start myself back into action once and for all.

That resolution to climb back on the blogging wagon has made me stop and think why exactly I do it.

Is it vanity?

Is it therapy?

Is it delusion?

The truth probably lies slap in the middle of all three. But it's also something else. For me - even before the Internet was a twinkle in Tim Berners-Lee's brain cells - writing always served a similar purpose to dreaming: a safety valve for my hopes and fears, and a way to empty out all the dross that gathers in my sub-conscious every day and try to make sense of it all.

And for a life-long on-and-off insomniac that can only be a good thing.

Whenever I have found myself facing a dilemma, standing helplessly in front of a tough decision, or utterly bewildered by the maelstrom of thoughts doing the fandango round my head, I turned to words.

Words were my friends, they helped me order those rampant thoughts and finally reach some kind of conclusion about what I want. They even helped me say a proper goodbye to my father, even though the 'plane I jumped on when I heard he'd collapsed didn't get me to his bedside in time to say it in person.

And when I've been unable to say out loud what I really feel in the midst of a blazing row, putting it down on paper, handing it over and then disappearing for an hour's walk usually does the job.

Blogging is just an extension of the same.
Yes, I want to be read, commented on, admired and adulated (hey, who doesn't?), but more than anything, it's a way of sharing myself with people, airing my cobwebby grey matter, and occasionally sourcing the wisdom of the (admittedly small) crowd of people who might read it.

Of course, not all those who read what I write are anonymous. Some of them are my nearest and dearest and - if I'm honest - that does sometimes inhibit me in what I write about. So there are some things I never have blogged about - and probably never will. But that's OK, isn't it?

I mostly blog to share my world with people I've never met, but wish I had or will some day.

Someone once said Twitter can make you love those you've never met - and it's true.

I've connected with some real diamonds out their in the good old Interwebby thing - some of whom I now truly consider my cyber soul sistahs (and bruvvers, of course, it just lacks the same pleasing alliteration).

I think I have built up a small but friendly group of readers and I hope I haven't alienated them with my recent radio silence.

The problem is that unlike your classic tortured artist toiling away in a garret, stress and emotional turmoil does not oil the cogs of my creative process. Oh no, it chucks a whole sackful of spanners into it.

This summer has been a tough one. Despite our best efforts and economy drives, money worries persist and anxiety about the future never goes away, no matter how brightly the sun sparkles on the Mediterranean waves.

We're trying to bring a little of the good old English "Stay calm and keep going" phlegm to the Greek reality we live in, but it takes a lot of effort - and sometimes that effort steals from my blogging reserves.

So, dear readers, I hope you'll forgive me.

But now that the school year is underway, I know that I 'must do better' and that's just what I plan to do.

Just watch this space...