You know those forts you built between the couch and the armchair, with your mother’s good sheets and cushions, so that she threatened to “tear it all down and snatch you baldheaded,” when you were a kid? Oh wait, that was me.
Well, anyway, Wendy Banks of Wendyopolis says all writing is basically a fort. And her blog? It’s a fort, too:
It’s ostentatiously private: how much am I telling you? You don’t know what my apartment smells like, for example. Not that I expect you to care. Only, having a blog sets up an inside and an outside; otherwise, it would be all inside, or all outside, and there would be no reason to look. Our computers are the peephole, and the whole (can I use this word?) blogosphere is a vast international warren of forts, like a hamster-run, connected by an elaborate system of tunnels.
(Thanks to the excellent George Murray of Bookninja, who’s apparently still talking to me despite last week’s unfeeling mockery of writers’ manuscript losses. We at MaudNewton.com adore George Murray because he’s just so damned forgiving. Also, he’s a shameful head-banger. Rawk!)