In the history of this blog, I've has 17006 pageviews. I don't know whether this is high or not. It's certainly a number. But I imagine around 10000 of those are mine.
My second highest viewed blog entry has 232 pageviews. The highest has 1525. Why is that? It's because it is that headscissors fetish post I did once (by the way, check the comments below it for lots of wacky fun). I suppose it's true what they say: blog posts about fetishes attract more readers than blog posts without discussion of fetishes.
They say things in a cumbersome fashion, they do.
Over the past month I've had 1126 pageviews from the US. Why? I don't know anyone in the US. Is there something about my writing that appeals to the American sensibility? Is it because of my pioneering individuality? My love of Monster Trucks? My tattoo of Franklin Pierce?
I've had 79 pageviews from Russia. Why? I don't know anyone in Russia. Is there something about my writing that appeals to the Russian sensibility? Is it because of my vast, bleak, expansive writing? My sensitivity to the human condition? My assortment of furry hats?
I've had 30 pageviews from Netherlands. Why? Is is because I've written about a fetish?
Yes.
That's why.
I can see myself becoming quite obsessed with checking these statistics. Even though I have no context in which to analyse them. All I know is this: I need to increase the amount of fetish content on this blog. Admittedly, it may attract readers unsuited to my nuanced irony and postmodern black humour. But the numbers never lie.
All hail numbers.
***
Here's a novel idea: I should write a novel.
That seems the sort of thing I should be doing. I'd love that - wander through the University Parks into town. Pick up a newspaper at The Tuck Shop, duck into Blackwells, get a cup of black, scummy coffee, look out over the Sheldonian, shake my head knowingly, raise my eyes suggestively at a young undergraduate (male or female - the writer has no anatomical preferences), open my laptop, begin to write.
I'd love it. But the previous paragraph has shown it's not as easy as it sounds. I'd witter on for three pages - long paragraphs, just lists strung clumsily together like the sausages of a blind butcher, incorrect punctuation - hyphens hither and thither; unconvincing semi colons lolloped on the page like a vagrant's bowtie.
If only writing was just spewing out words. But you need ideas and technical skill.
What would my novel be about? I don't know. I could come up with some hilarious suggestions, but none with the legs to last a whole book.
I should be more disciplined. If I tried, I might be able to make a real go of it. I could achieve fame.
I could go on the Newsnight Review (even if it's called something different now) and make pithy remarks about ballet ("Of course, ballet is not about dancing. That's the last thing it's about."), the Impressionists ("Of course, Monet wasn't an Impressionist. That's the last thing he was.") and the latest Hollywood blockbusters ("Of course, Transformers 4: Big Clanking Fire Fuck isn't about robots that transform into vehicles. It's about vehicles that transform into robots. In a word: PALESTINE.").
So, maybe I should get cracking. I can start my first chapter tomorrow. I don't think I'll revisit Tears of a Duke. That piece was very much of its time. The trick is not to do what I usually do: lose faith and leap into a surreal cul-de-sac. I need real characters, acting plausibly.
And no ghosts.
No ghosts.
Unless I put ghosts in. Ghosts can be plausible. It all depends on context. A ghost in a branch of H&M is anachronistic and absurd. But a ghost in a butler's sarcophagus is A-OK.
Plus, books are all about chapter titles and fonts. Everything else is just ballast.
I believe it was Alexander Pushkin who wrote: "Do me a favour! Chapter names and typeface, typeface and chapter names. Don't mess about with the rest of that bum-hummus."
My resolve may waver overnight.
But I see no reason why I shouldn't have a bestseller by Christmas. I can be the new Russell Brand/JK Rowling/Lord Tennyson.
Just watch me.
Well, not now. I'm getting ready for bed. I'll tell you when I'm decent.
I wouldn't hold your breath.
***
Blogger is also letting me add pictures more easily now. So here are three in quick succession.
1)
(I didn't take this)
2)
(I did take this. What is this?)
3)
(I took this too. I like it. It reminds me of me.)
No comments:
Post a Comment