If you’re reading this it means I have taken the plunge and/ or taken temporary leave of my senses and put some words on The Internet.
I have been making excuses and generally skirting around the ‘Publish’ button on this blog for almost a month now. Identifying myself as a writer online seemed such an impossible and fake thing to do, and thinking about other people reading my words still makes me vaguely nauseous. But in the name of writing for myself and to give myself a break, here they are. My words, that is.
I thought I should use my first post or two as curator of Grassroots Propaganda to contextualise this online endeavour of mine, and give some kind of introduction before happily fading into the anonymous haze of online writing.
I have always loved writing and cautiously aim, with Grassroots Propaganda, to make a concrete(ish) habit of it. I hope to share lovingly articulated tales of my travels both past and present; some thoughts on books and music, both that I like and that I don’t; and musings on the evolving spectacle of current affairs and popular culture with which I am vaguely enthralled. (Read: frequently scrolls Trump’s Twitter feed in varying degrees of trepidation and incredulity – sentiments you’d think would have numbed this far into his presidency, and yet POTUS’ woefully inaccurate punctuation usage and nonsensical accusations continue to simultaneously alarm and amuse.)
More than anything I am writing for me, in an attempt to stave off my brain’s ever-imminent deterioration into Netflix-scrolling #unwoke zombie mush. A blog of thoughts and words and maybe a photo or two, curated by me, at the mercy of the internet. This is what I like to imagine Grassroots Propaganda will be.
You are warmly invited to accompany me in this endeavour and peruse my musings at your leisure, and in spite of myself and my reservations, I hope you will. Or, you know, don’t. That’s also fine. (But I get nervous and company is nice, so do stay.)