When I googled, ‘What’s the point of blogging?’ my laptop conjured up about 5,600,000 results in round 0.36 of a second. ‘Why bother blogging?’ turns up 73,300,000 results. ‘Why I blog,’ 2,930,000,000. ‘Should I blog?’ 5,060,000,000. Apparently this is an area which is preoccupying the world. So, in a quest to work out just what is the point of blogging, or if, indeed, there is any point to it at all, I’ve started a blog.
To be honest, that’s not quite true. The last bit, that is, about the quest. Everything else is straight off Google so it must be true. Right? The real reason I’ve started a blog is because I have to. No-one’s twisting my arm or anything, but the truth is I’m doing a course, and part of the course involves writing a blog, and if I don’t do it, then I won’t get a certificate. But a quest sounds more heroic, so perhaps, in celebration of the blogosphere, we should all suspend disbelief and imagine a quest.
The problem is though, that in that last sentence we come up against one of the stark realities of blogging. Not in the heroic quest, or in the literary suspension of disbelief, but in that little, unassuming plural pronoun and its quiet, little intensifying all. We write a blog to be read, we work on the assumption that it will be, we speak of what “we should all” do. But what if no-one’s reading? What if no-one’s out there? What if we’re all alone?