A mini blogger biog

Dear Mum,

It has occurred to me that I have never directly addressed the nature of this blog. It being over sixth months since my first blog, I think it time that I stand on my blogger soapbox and make a bit of an introduction.

Let’s face the music, Mum, this blog isn’t really for you. These are actually mock letters, rather like Anne Frank’s “Dear Kitty”, although I’m not suggesting my rudimentary musings are on a par with authentic reactions to fascist tyranny. Rather, the epistolary or diary style allows me to do what I do best – which is talk.

And so this blog is, actually, just a blog, disguised as a diary or collection of letters, but a blog nonetheless.

It offers honest truths about my existence written in a tongue-in-cheek style but, ultimately, with argument and reasoning.

And so to whoever stumbles across this, you’re not to worry that you’ve happened upon personal familial confessions. You’re very welcome to read all, because this isn’t really intended for my Mum. Although she is my biggest fan. Cheers, Mum.

I also think I ought to introduce new readers to Lucinda – my middle-class alter ego. Lucinda manages to creep into my life and subsequently into my writing, a bit like Mr Dick in ‘David Copperfield,’ finding himself unable to avoid the voice of Charles I in his memoirs. Except I don’t fly a kite after writing my blog to free myself of my doppelganger.

Readers ought to be aware of my split personality complex and accept my apology now if at any point Lucinda should grab the keyboard from my clutches and furiously type her bourgeois ponderings.

This aim is to one day write something of worth, something that people will read and ask their friend “Cor, did you read that blog/column/novel/playscript? [I’m not sure which but hopefully one will be of note]. Lucy made a good point, eh?”

“Yes I did read that article/poem/novella/post-it note?” [Again, not sure which, though I might stretch to a profound post-it note]. And it was good.”

In my opinion, there aren’t really any iconic or even noteworthy Lucy’s in the Land of Literature. There are great Janes (Jane Austen and Jane Eyre) great Elizabeths (Elizabeth Gaskell and Elizabeth Bennet) and there are great Margarets (Margaret Mitchell and Margaret Schlegal).

But there are not any great Lucy’s.

Take, for instance, the Lucy we all grew up with – Lucy Locket. Lucy Locket is not a great advert for Lucy’s. She’s forgetful and a careless spender.

There is Lucy Steele in ‘Sense and Sensibility’ who is downright irritating. Her constant fawning over Elinor Dashwood is creepy and manipulative, yet she’s also thick, not recognising the fact that Edward Ferrars has ‘given his handkerchief’ (and other such euphemisms) to another woman. Twerp.

There is also Lucy Snowe from ‘Villette’ who is a bit of a mystery. Her surname, Snowe, reflects her cold and aloof personality, hardly inspiring the fiery sentiments in readers that her fictional relative Jane Eyre does.

The only Lucy of any real note is Lucy Pevensie from ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’. Crowned ‘Queen Lucy the Valiant’ she is the greatest beacon for fictional Lucy’s but her nosiness in investigating a bit of furniture lands herself and her siblings in no end of trouble.

Unsurprisingly, hanging out in a beaver hunt, on the run from a deranged ice Queen threatening her prey with Turkish delight tricks (bleurgh!) isn’t for me.

To conclude, therefore, the world needs a new Lucy. One to lead the way on paper, one who uses language to inspire and encourage and be all-round brilliant.

Then again, we could also do with a new Pip (Pip Gargery is too self-centred), a new Edmund Rochester (he’s racist), a new Nancy (one without the psycho boyfriend), a new Penelope (one who doesn’t sit around crying all day, waiting for her unfaithful husband), a new Hercule Poirot and Jane Marple (how unfortunate that death follows them everywhere they go), a new Scarlett(one who calls it a day when Rhett leaves her)...