Monday, 29 July 2013

I'm just saying.

I'm sitting in the dark, on my bed, listening to Taylor Swift and scouring my Twitter feed for any sign of intelligent life. I'm afraid to announce there's not much. I am, as I am frequently told, too obsessed with Twitter. In fact, I must admit, I do have a life outside of the mass black hole that is the tumultuous Twittersphere. I don't know why people seem to jump to the conclusion that because I have tweeted a huge 35,719 times, that I therefore cannot even comprehend, never mind pursue an actual social life. This, in fact, couldn't be further from the truth. I'm a very sociable person, usually. On and offline. There's nothing better, to me, than meeting a friend over Starbucks and having a gossip, a drink at the pub or even a tweeting marathon online. I will dispute this constantly, I have a life, both regarding and disregarding my online activity.

We've all done it. Fallen into the social-networking trap, became obsessed with the latest networking craze and found yourself planning your sleeping pattern around your Facebook newsfeed, Twitter timeline or Bebo profiles (yes, really far back in the day!) It's kind of funny really. My parents are constantly saying to me, "why don't you get off twitter and actually go talk to your friends?" with which I respond, "what do you think I'm doing now?" I've said it before, and I'll continue to say it again, I have to be one of the easiest people to get in touch with, on the planet. I have a Facebook account, a Twitter, a discarded MySpace I never really nourished, a Tumblr I have no idea how to use, but I'm always receiving emails about comments and photo posts, a YouTube I don't really need, and of course, a Blogspot. I'm always attached to my phone, and if I don't respond to a text, a tweet, a facebook message or a phone call, then I really am avoiding you, or I'm extremely busy (i.e. Watching Luther, NCIS or lost in a book.)

I love my networking, even if other people laugh at it. I've seen the looks, and heard the comments. I'll slip in something about a tweet or a blog post into a real-life, physical conversation, and there are certain people who just can't help but roll their eyes and just stand there, blatantly uninterested. That's okay. And you know why? Because it makes me happy. I like to blog and tweet. It's what I want, so it doesn't cross my mind what other people think of it. Even some of my friends, I'm sure, probably think they have better things to do than blog, but for me, it's more than just a play-by-play, online diary entry, it's a personal way I can get my writing out there, into the vast array of the internet. A powerful force, and a way, hopefully, that may open up many new opportunities for me in the future.

There's probably a lot of people close to me who think I'm clutching at straws, or just being a naive little dreamer by wanting to pursue a career in writing, but I shrug it off. You might think I'm a dreamer, but maybe I am. But years from now, I hope to see more than four office or classroom walls. I don't mind there's no steady wage or pension plan or set holidays, because what I want isn't about stability. It's about passion. Years from now, when my friends are teachers, and scientists, and pharmacists and doctors and all that stuff, maybe my name will be known for something else, for some other reason. Maybe I'll be the next F. Scott Fitzgerald, J.K Rowling or Jane Austen. I want you to be reading someone's blog who will later become a bestselling author, a journalist, or a magazine editor. I want to write, the freedom of expression, and my words down on someone else's page. It may not be conventional, but who wants to be conventional anyway. Every risk I take may get me one step closer to the thing I really want, so if that means writing a blog, and spending too much time dreaming up creative pieces, then so be it.

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