My blogs are demanding monsters. “Feed me! Feed me!” they whine.
I stuff my fingers in my ears and close my eyes and ignore them. I haven't time to write posts. I have other things to do.…
“Mum, have you managed to work out how to publish your book, The Angels of Abbey Creek?”
“When will you finish the sequel, The Angels at Gum Tree Road?”
“Have you done any more work on your Shakespeare Breakspeares novel?”
“No I haven’t!” I cry. The unfinished manuscripts stare up at me from their files. When am I going to find time to edit all my stories?
I spy my knitting abandoned in a basket. "Not you too! Stop looking at me with those accusing eyes." Will I finish the cardigan before Gemma-Rose outgrows it?
I have a pile of letters that need answering. And a toppling tower of books and blogs to read. I have family problems that need fixing, and jobs to complete. There’s other things that need attention too...
What’s that noise? My thoughts are rudely interrupted. I push my fingers further into my ears but it’s no good. I can still hear long sharp monster claws scraping very slowly down the blackboard of my mind.
I open one eye and see an evil monster grin. I open the other eye and the grin grows wider, revealing huge crooked green teeth. “Feed me!”
I’ve got to do something. And I've got to do it now. I decide to kill the monsters once and for all. I’m going to bash them soundly over their ugly heads. So I grab my hammer in both hands and swing it high into the air and launch it towards the ‘delete' button on my computer screen. Then just as the hammer is about to make contact, I jerk it to one side. I sigh. I can’t do it. I can’t kill. I’m not the violent type.
But my blogs are still grinning evilly, still demanding.
“If I can't kill you, I’m going to silence you,” I yell, and before they can react, I have clicked my mouse a few times, changed a couple of settings and the problem is solved. “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!” I sing, happy-dancing around the room. Those demanding voices have been trapped in the dungeon, behind locked doors. They're inside blogs, newly made private, unable to communicate with the outside world. They are theoretically gone. It's as if they no longer exist.
I let out my breath in one long relieved sigh, releasing the tension from my body. “I’m going to bed and I’m going to sleep soundly,” I announce.
Except I don’t. Monster blog nightmares plague my sleep. I can still hear voices: “You think you can get along without writing? You’re going to miss us, you know.”
So I get up and open my computer. I do a bit of clicking and my blogs reappear.
“Don’t say a word,” I warn, glaring at my blogs. “I have nothing to feed you. Maybe I’ll have nothing for an awfully long time.”
They give me lop-sided apologetic grins. They bat their eyelashes at me as if to say, "You love us really... don't you?"
“I’m going to ignore you for a while,” I say, refusing to look those pathetic blogs in the eye. "You’re going to have to rely on the kindness of passers-by to feed you. Maybe if you're lucky someone will come along and click on an old post or two.”
This gives me an idea:
Did you ever hear the story of how my husband Andy hit a polar bear? He was driving along the highway, on his way home from town when … If you'd like to know more perhaps you can click on this link...
Or did he?
Be kind to my blog monsters and click on some old links... please.... until I can feed them myself.