I have become obsessed with my blog stats.
And they are not improving.
At the end of last year-New Year’s Eve, to be precise-I was Mumsnet’s blog of the day. That’s it, I thought, I’m on the up now. EVERYONE will know my work and I will be universally feted. I will be a single mother made good, my life as full time teacher and part time mother of coffee shop nuisance will be transformed, and I will be able to devote all of my time to being a freelance writer, tapping at my Macbook whilst sipping my coffee in my own personal office in my beautiful period home in the countryside (possibly eighteenth century, possibly art deco, or maybe I’d even go as far as the 1960s if the location was right. The big windows bring such wonderful light to a property). My child will be with me all the time, perfectly behaved of course, no need for childcare. Or perhaps I could just employ Granny on a full time basis and she could live in, rather than relying on her to house me as though I’m an errant teenager. I would basically be JK Rowling. The big studios would be vying for the rights to the film version of my blog, and who would I choose to direct it? Sam Taylor-Johnson is such an inspiration-I hope I too have a husband twenty years my junior when I’m her age-but then Angelina is interested too, and I so admire her work with the UN. But then don’t you think she’s a bit too serious and maybe a bit depressing? This blog is no In The Land of Blood and Honey. Maybe we should keep it lighthearted? How about Richard Curtis? Too saccharine?
And what of the book deal? Penguin would be interested, of course. They do like the classics. But it would have to be Virago, surely? Look at the work they have done with championing women’s writing. But then are they still going or did they pack up in the 1970s?
Well reader (if you’re out there, that is) I’ll let you into a secret.
It hasn’t happened. None of it.
Sam, Richard and Angelina are not hammering at my door (correction: my mother’s door. I’m still living in her house) weighted down with film contracts. The only potentially lucrative phone calls are from call centres asking about mis-sold PPI or accidents I’ve never even had. The stats have virtually flatlined.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
And so, dear reader (IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?) I will continue to try and try and try again, and keep reminding myself of all the times that Harry Potter was rejected. And maybe, just maybe, eventually, somebody will read this blog.