I spent last night in deepest thought, engendered, no doubt, by my scotch egg curry. Don't knock it till you've tried it! A pack of those mini savoury eggs, a decent home made curry sauce with a few mushrooms and a bit of green pepper, and there you are - ersatz nargisi kofta curry. Made even the can of Fosters drinkable.
Anyway, as I slumped in the armchair, the divine Billie Holiday doing her level best to cheer me up, I fell to wondering whether blogging was really what I wanted, considering the barrage of comments not so far forthcoming. But then I realised it wasn't so very different from the response I used to get from sf fanzines. I'd publish those and rarely get comments from more than a quarter of the readership. OK, there's a question of scale here. I'm talking about fanzines with a print run of, at most, 150, compared to a blog going out to ...well....the world. The world? That's not too many.
But really, publishing is its own reward. I know there's a nice lady who publishes her blog and doesn't even have the facility for comments. Doesn't want them. I'd like comments, but am enjoying simply writing for myself so far. And getting to grips with HTML and like so.
I guess the most obvious way of attracting comments is to tell your friends you're blogging and point them to it, but I wanted to see if I'd get any without them. I thought I'd give them a month of blogging before Revealing All. However, I relented a little when I found Will Barrow was having a Bad Time. I thought it might take his mind off his troubles if he had the scintillating wit and pithy homespun philosophy of Boogie Street to keep him occupied. So he has Been Informed and tells me on the phone that he is Interested.
[This posting courtesy of Initial Capitalisations.]