Bloggiversary

I am writing an extra blog post today because it is my Bloggiversary. Nine years ago today I sat down, and decided I did not want my old blog on Blogspot, and wanted to write out the things that rattled around in my brain like dainty fairies wearing saucepans in a new, cleaner space.

So I opened up a new blog. And I called it ‘Ocean Bream’.

Not after the fish. But after a lovely, whimsical book I read called The Spellbook of Listen Taylor where a woman really, just really wanted to be asked how her ocean bream was, my love?

At the time I wasn’t married, but I was a few months into ‘seeing’ my husband, who I had known my entire life. We ‘courted’ for a while and then decided to get married in January 2014. So my bloggiversary is very close to my anniversary, and for me, somehow, that feels a little special.

Image Credit: Shawna Erback

Running on Empty

Why do people say that they are running on empty?

They aren’t running.

They are just empty.

The sun can suck your energy out.

Especially if you live in a country where the sun is consistently shrouded by cloud.

Clouds of shroud.

Covering its beaming face.

When the sun comes out all and sundry scuttle from their hidey holes.

And it drains energy.

So lobster arms and legs sprawl, blistering, in the heat, empty cans hanging loosely from fleshy claws.

And people are truly, then, running on empty.

And when the sun sets, and the ashen dregs of barbecues are ground into the floor under hardened soles, the cold night air surges again, and the stars pop out to twinkle, one by one.

We never run on empty.

We just run.

Bloggery.

Well it appears I have created yet another blog. This one was actually created, not because I am on the threshold of what they call the grasp of the interwebs, but because I came across a delightfully long and remarkably enjoyable review of a book called Shatter Me, by a lady named Tahereh Mafi.

Now after reading this book I suffered an inexplicable tumult of pure agony as I tried to describe to my very patient cousin the exact thoughts which I accommodated whilst reading that particular novel. It would be an understatement to say that I felt frustrated. Mafi seemed to me like an excellent writer with talent for far far better than the impoverished ruin that was Shatter Me.

I felt as though whatever talent she did have was blocked behind a huge boulder that was, I have to say, her own ego. I felt as though her own valuation of her work was setting her back by leagues and leagues and I don’t know how to put it any other way, being terribly limited by way of relevant vocabulary, but I found her to be obnoxiously mundane in her attempts at brilliant writing.

However what I really wanted to say was that I was induced to join this bloggery because a member of this honourable site had taken up her (or his) time to write a magnificent review which mirrored ALL the things I thought about Shatter Me so precisely, that frankly I could not have said them better had my mind been able to speak the things it had thought!

It was somebody called ‘dilatory bibliophile‘ or something on those lines, and let me just say, folks, as how I was completely enthralled by her (or his) review and frankly, I can not wait to read more of those!

So, just to ensure that I would get access to such delightfully satisfying composition, I decided that I would make an account on here and follow the person in question, and then through him (or her), I could possibly find more delumptious literature written by both celebrated authors as well as members of the internet community with ‘diamonds at their fingertips’, as it were.

And so, here I am.