It’s been a while since I wrote anything on my blog. You may have guessed that from my very informative title, or you may be a regular visitor to ashbilling(dot)co(dot)uk and have noticed it for yourself. Of course, you’re not the latter. No-one is the latter. Even Ash Billinghay isn’t a regular visitor to ashbillinghay(dot)co(dot)uk and maybe that’s part of the problem.
For the last few months my website has been the digital equivalent of an idea scribbled down on a post-it note, only a lot less interesting. I’d tried to make it interesting, but all I’d achieved was making it break. Then I got annoyed by it and gave up on trying to fix it, and stopped showing it to people, and stopped looking at it myself. It has sat in the online wasteland, not as a place for people to come and discover more about me, just as a place where Google bots no longer venture as they’ve deemed it to be dead.
In many ways, dead is exactly what it was.
This isn’t the first time I’ve written a blog post about how I rarely write blog posts any more. In fact if I could be bothered to go back and look (which, spoiler: I cannot) I’d likely find numerous examples of me making a triumphant return to the world of online writing and making outlandish claims such as, “This time things will be different” and “Now I will write more often”.
The problem is, as you may well have gathered by now (you are on the fourth paragraph of a blog about nothing, after all) that I have nothing I really want to write about.
I could make some excuses up about how I write for a living and how that makes me less inclined to write for fun, but that would be a lie. I write for fun all the time, I just don’t share it because I just don’t think it’s GOOD ENOUGH, DAMN IT.
I could also say that I found it easier to write when my life was a swirling mess of teenage emotions, instead of how it is now where it’s pretty good actually and I’m generally happy with it all. And that would be true, only if you were to stumble across my teenage blog – which does still exist but you mustn’t ever seek it out as it will destroy you – you’d realise those swirling teenage emotions did not make for good content. Regular content, sure. Good content? Oh no. Definitely not. As a copywriter I can’t be posting that kind of stuff. I’ve got a reputation, you know?
There was a stage between teenage melodrama and this time right now where I tried to make my blog a thing other marketing professionals would find interesting. I’d share things about creativity and the death of good ideas, but I didn’t enjoy writing it and seemingly no-one enjoyed reading it. In fact no-one read it at all. Maybe they would have enjoyed it if they’d read it, but probably not. It was rubbish.
Sadly for my hopes of anyone ever engaging with me online, the only things I do enjoy writing are pointless monologues like this, where I just type thoughts out as they appear in my head with no idea of where they’ll go or what they’ll lead to. That’s why none of my attempts at writing books ever get anywhere. That and because I end up hating all my main characters and killing them off in chapter two.
I won’t make a promise that I’ll do this more often, because I know you don’t care and I also know I can’t commit to it, but it has felt nice to type some words in my own tone of voice again. Do you ever get scared that, as a copywriter, you’ll write in so many different tones that you’ll end up losing yourself in the big bad world of brand? No. I don’t either.
Anyway. Sorry for interrupting you. I’m sure you’re busy.