To blog or not to blog

Blogging's a funny thing. For me, it's become a bit addictive. There's a certain challenge in producing something every day. Something a bit different, something that might have broad appeal, something more than a picture of a turnip or a piece of bloody cheese. (Stop it, or you'll have to stay after class - Ed) It's quite an interesting mental challenge. (And that's not your first problem - Ed)

For the three years 05, 06, and 07, whilst it increased every year I wrote less than a post a day but in 2008 that increased to over a post a day. I'm not sure why, but I suspect that it has something to do with my disillusionment (is that better Barbara?) with the bloggers that I follow and in particular those that have found a book deal. It seems that as soon as a book deal gets waived before their noses they pay less attention to their loyal fans, no doubt because of the pressure put upon them by their new found publisher. I don't think that's right. If someone gives you the courtesy of looking at your stuff regularly then you owe them something.

Having said that it must be hard to write a book. Where the hell do you start?

I'm reading Sepulchre by Kate Mosse at the moment and not only is there a lot of it (739 pages) but the amount of research is humongous. It would drive me nuts. I'd get to Chapter two and then say WTF, I need a drink.

For me the best source of ideas come from life. Some of the fascinating characters that I've come across in my life have such interesting stories to tell. We all know them. Take our English next door neighbour. After three years in the British Army he spent fifteen years in the French Foreign Legion and fought 'behind the lines' in Gulf War 1. As befits somebody who lived this extraordinary camouflaged life, nobody in the village knew he lived here. Not even the village busybody. It wasn't until he said hello to us one day that we knew about him, even though he lives not more than 50 metres away.

I realised that he had a fascinating story to tell, and I was quite prepared to put the work in to create a draft for him, but could I get him to tell all? He had various reasons why he didn't want to tell but the one that resonated the most, as he stared with eyes fixed into the distance, was when he said, "you wouldn't want to know. You wouldn't want to know."