I firmly believe that the ability to express oneself in writing is a key skill that everyone should possess. Whether it is writing (emailing) a new idea to the boss, recording a daily diary, or crafting a carefully worded dissertation, there really is no excuse for not being able to tell your own story. This is after all a key part of our development as human beings.
All of which gives me an excuse to be fascinated by blogs. I can’t help myself; I love those little glimpses in to people’s lives, their inner workings. It’s addictive being able to step in to someone else’s shoes from the comfort of your own sofa with a cup of tea in hand, and so much better when the author is able to tell a story.  For example, here’s an excerpt from a blog that I read every day http://thestoryoftelling.com/the-elephant-in-the-marketing-room/

“I was raised in Dublin, the storytelling capital of the world. There is no place on earth that is more hardwired for story than Ireland, home of Guinness and oversize teapots.  Wikipedia will tell you that the Irish are some of the biggest consumers of tea. What Wikipedia won’t tell you is that in Ireland, tea (like Guinness), isn’t just a drink—it’s a lubricator of story.”

What a great start to a blog! How could you not read more? In one paragraph I am immersed in the descriptive language, mentally adding Dublin back on my list of places to see and looking forward to yet another cup of tea! Many Hollywood productions do far less with far more!
So, as I sit once again with the kettle gently bubbling away behind me, I want to tell you a story about my experience in Ireland, and how it changed my life. Way back in the dark ages of1990 I was a corporate cog in the wheel of the busy press office of Guinness, home of that famous inky pint. Ironically though, at the tender age of 24 I preferred sweet white wine to a pint of the black stuff, so the staff perk of a case (slab) once a quarter was a bit wasted on me.

And so it remained until, many twists of fate and 8 years later, I found myself on a literal and figurative pilgrimage to Ireland. Armed with the guilty cash of a soon to be dissolved marriage, I hired a car, determined to complete a circuit of the emerald isle’s coast.
It was a lonely, somewhat tragic and cathartic experience, but let’s quickly gloss over that and get to the twist. My consolations along the way were a temporary fascination with whisky and a belated conversion to the joys of Guinness. If only I had known what wonderful stuff Guinness was, I would have made far better use of my employee bonus!

As I travelled, petrol fuelled my car and Guinness fuelled my soul, or at least the wounded part of me that craved artistic output. Yes, you guessed it; I wrote a sweeping memoir of my trip, destined to gather dust in a drawer somewhere. But not only that, I also penned a number of songs of equally dark content, which, in a moment of sympathy, a friend helped me to record back in London.  The songs were depressing a full of woe, and I have not been able to listen to them since, but they served as an odd kind of closure, and I was able to move on thanks to the healing powers of Guinness.

So there you go, one interesting blog leads to an odd little story about change, which I would not have been able to share if I was not confident in being able to put myself down on paper.

The point is that the spoken word is wonderful, but can be limited, by context, social convention, by our own inhibitions. But the written word; no such limitations apply, we can write to a blank page, overlooked by no one and judged only by our own thoughts. What wonderful escapism, which is why as tutors we encourage every child to have a go, put pencil t paper and see what happens. The results are funny, challenging, confusing, but never, ever boring.

So get your pens or keyboards out and have a go. In this age of bite-sized information, where texts are the language of choice, we need to rediscover the joys of slow communication. We will be the better for it.