Blogging seems to have some similarity to me to writing a newspaper column, with one exception: I have real difficulty imagining who you are.
Obviously, the reason I blog rather than just write in a private diary is that I am writing for You, Dear Reader. All I know with absolute assurance at this moment is that you are reading this blog.
Are you a programmer living in New York City, taking a break from crafting some subroutine at 7pm? Are you a newspaper columnist from the Gleaner looking for ideas? Or a cousin of my wife who is trying to catch up with our lives? Or a Trini looking to move to Kingston from Woodbrook in the next month for business? Or a crook looking to see if I slip up at some point and mention my social security number? Or are you some lonely soul who lives in the apartment next door to me who saw me running the other day and has been stalking me ever since (I hope not, because I’m on to you if you exist! )
I suppose that You, Dear Reader, read blogs the way I read them, which is just for the odd moment when something goes click and a connection is made that leaps from my world into Yours. Those odd moments are well worth waiting for, and reading for, and the beauty of blogging is that the jump can happen quickly… without waiting for the book to come out.
And while I’ve met only a few blog readers in person, I imagine that You and I would click if we were to meet in person.
Unless you are a crook or stalker, that is.