44 days, 21

A few centuries ago, some lazy count in France decided to keep a diary AND publish it; it talked entirely about himself, his feelings, his memories, him him him; it created a sensation and changed the face of literature forever. A door was opened, and our obsession with ourselves and curiosity about others became COOL.

Well, it doesn't appear to be that cool anymore. It's cool when one eccentric does it (and everyone else flocks around to gawp); it's cool when a writer spends months and years writing a book and people buy it like hot cakes off the press; but when everyone does it, and nobody reads it, where's the magic?

One blogging site counts its customers daily: '832,401 new posts, 1,347,920 comments, & 182,040,566 words posted today'! 472,289 people sat down in front of their computers today, spending 2 minutes or 2 hours to write their blog and post it. Click and voom: it flew into the cloud of unread or unreadable words we launch at the world every day.

It's like a circus where – instead of letting the artists perform – everyone gets up to tumble about and do their own pirouettes, a theatre where we dash to the stage and jostle each other for space, to recite up there in front of all the empty rows of seats: the audience has bolted to try their unwritten, unrehearsed, simultaneous, loud and limitless act!

My current act – this blog – is almost half way through. I've written every day for 21 days. I've got 6 comments: 2 are from myself (!), 2 are from you and 2 are from a lovely friend I haven't seen in years! I've always maintained that a blog is more secret than a locked diary.

But I'm hooked and you're still reading. Today is already Day 22.