A recovering blogger

Every so often Google sends me a blog alert if people are writing about The Beach House, and today I found myself looking at gorgeous pictures of Nantucket on a blog by Sarah Laurence who is, it seems, an author and an artist (beautiful watercolor at the top of her blog that I'm presuming was painted by her - I may have to ask her if she has work for sale...). She set off for 'Sconset to try and find Nan's house, and took the most stunning pictures that utterly capture Nantucket - definitely worth taking a look.

http://blog.sarahlaurence.com/

Up until two months ago when I became completely obsessed with blogging, I didn't really understand what blogging was about. Apart from reading Perez Hilton, which isn't so much a blog as an unedited, scathing issue of US Weekly, I didn't read other people's blogs. I still don't very much, but now that I'm doing so much myself, I stumble upon the odd blog.

The other day I found myself clicking to a blog by a young mother, from another blog that is known as being one of the biggest and best around. The young mother's blog was raw, and angry, and made me wonder who in the hell would want to continue reading it. It reminded me of these young journalists who think they have to make a name for themselves, and the more horrible they are in print, the more of a name they think they'll have.

It happened to me only once. A newspaper in Chicago. The girl who came to interview me was young, and sweet, and said she was writing a novel. We had what I thought was a perfectly nice interview, and I forgot all about it.

A year or so later, I was being interviewed by another journalist and he said, so what did you mean when you said you found the people in Westport 'amusing.' I looked at him blankly. Amusing is not one of my words. You know there are words that you use a lot - for me that includes lovely, gorgeous, darling, ghastly, horrific (dramatic? moi?) - and then there are words that you just never, ever, use. Amusing is one of them. Amazing? Absolutely. But 'amusing'? Never. Plus, I just wouldn't have said I found the people in my town amusing. Not that I don't, occasionally, but it's just not a word I would use. I might say they're bizarre, or hysterical, or peculiar (Peculiar's a big word for me), but I just wouldn't say amusing.

I had no idea what he was talking about. He rifled around and presented me with a press cutting, written by that sweet young journalist I had offered to help, and it took my breath away with it's vitriol. It was judgmental, and, what we call in the business, a total stitch up. It was also entirely unnecessary. Fine, she may not have liked me, but it presented me as imperious, snobbish, difficult, which is about as far away from the truth as you can get. It seemed to be based on my accent, which is rather English, but given that I was born and brought up there, not a lot I can do about that one.

I was a journalist for years, and have come across that phenomenon many times, I just hadn't been on the receiving end and it wasn't pleasant. So, back to the blogger who is, unsurprisingly, an aspiring writer. I say aspiring, because I honestly don't know if wanting to be a writer, or writing and being unpublished, or thinking you have skills as a writer, qualifies you as a writer. Maybe it does. In which case I am not just a writer, I am also an architect, a dermatologist (specialising in skin rashes in children), an interior designer, a chef, a florist, a landscape designer and a gardener.

Someone had left a comment on this blog, saying something along the lines of people not being comfortable reading such negativity, constant complaints etc, which is perhaps why she complains about not having any readers.

This then led to a response from the blogger, which was vitriolic, filled with fury and self-righteousness. It turns out the blogger is a recovering alcoholic. I felt for her, because there is a very big difference between being sober (she is), and living in recovery (she would not appear to be). Being sober without recovery just means you're not drinking. It also means we dwell on what we call 'the pity pot,' blaming everyone else for our problems, lashing out because it makes the hurt go away for just a little while.

I wish her well, I wish her more meetings, and perhaps a sponsor who encourages her to work the steps. I also hope she discovers that writing rageful blogs, however clever or well-written they may be, is not something many of us wish to read.

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