"I couldn't help but wonder... why wasn't I getting any orders for my new yeti-chic range of jackets?"
Blogs are an interesting phenomenon.
I was first introduced to this phenomenon when my sister started one (as a cathartic diary-equivalent at first) and it gained huge readership as her story became increasingly moving and philosophical. It is her soapbox and scribbling pad, and is hugely useful to her as well as being a great read. This is the life story blog; the unashamed outpouring which becomes addictive to many browsing the web. Other blogs are more style-specific (I love StyleBubble and Notes on the High Street) and are a storyboard of someone's passion... another favourite of mine is the simple, visually stunning ode to personal style The Sartorialist. You need a hook really, an angle. I have thought a lot about this in the past year as it raises the scary question: What makes a writer? Does your enthusiasm for the keyboard or pen define you, or must your story lend you the words for a truly readable passage?
Essentially, this induces a slight panic as I don't really have a remarkable tale to tell; young would-be writer attempts to be pushy enough to penetrate the industry, funny enough to still have friends, lovable enough to hold some male attention past the first date... this isn't the stuff of great literature. Where are my moors and my lightning bolts, my darks nights of the soul? The most life affirming moment I've had this week was discussing how I might choose to fake my own death with a group of similarly inebriated friends. Not a cliffhanger in sight.
I don't mean to undermine my own lovingly-typed efforts here, it's just a thought. Which actually might be the best way to describe the average blog post. For me it's more of a DIY column; I get the invaluable practice of writing regular, readable copy and you lucky folks get the key to my frazzled psyche.
In other news, my freelancing is zooming along nicely. I networked my little tush off at Theo Randall last week at an event for the tourism board of Piedmont, Italy- I went card collecting (business, not credit), met lots of lovely snowsports, travel and food hacks and ate and drank the very finest food and wine of the region. I can especially recommend the desert wine from the Asti district (Moscato d'Asti - fresh, bubbly, elderflower-laced dessert wine) and the buttery, parmesan-topped veal ravioli which is a Piedmont speciality. We even got a quick word with Theo himself - he was full of enthusiasm for the quality produce and simplicity of flavour which is the hallmark of Italian cuisine. I hope to be reviewing a new London restaurant called Zeen soon as a result of my PR-courting skills, bring on more lovely foodie events!
As for my hunt for the perfect internship or junior position, I have a couple of possibilities on the horizon, very excited about the prospect of having that true 'working girl' feeling as I perch on the outskirts of London and my fledgling career. So maybe I do have a story. It may not be bloody Proust but it works for me.
