One of the strange side effects of being the sort of greedy, gobble it up reader that I am is that I become convinced that the life of the character in the book I am reading holds the answer to my own life. So, for example, the other day I was reading a book – sadly, I can’t remember what – where someone did something to do with art. I became absolutely convinced that the answer to ALL my problems was to study Art History. Truly, had I not been half asleep, I would have registered with Unisa then and there. Although, had I not been half asleep, the idea probably wouldn’t have seemed so great.
So now I am reading Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I am loving it and am pretty sure this is not the last time I will mention it – but the protagonist in this novel is a blogger. As in, she actually makes money from blogging. And has kazillions of followers and is invited to talk at conferences and airs her views and suddenly this afternoon I was, like, “Wow! I should be a blogger!” I spent some happy time thinking what my blog would be about (parenting – and how bad I am at it) and checking names (would you believe that badmom and thebadmomdiary are BOTH taken) and wondering how you make money blogging and how to set it up to anonymous so that I can say scathing things about other people.
And then it dawned on me that actually. . . I already have a blog. And that I barely manage to write the novels that are my life’s work to write, without adding another blog to the pile. And if I really feel the blogging need I can sit in my bed – as I am now – in my worn out poo-bear pyjamas and blog on my existing platform to my heart’s content. So that’s what I am doing.
I am less sure how I am going to indulge the other need that Americanah has given me, which is to be a black woman who defiantly and politically keeps her hair absolutely natural. . .