Part One

Part Two

Part Three

***

The InterWebs had gotten hot and sticky and Anna’s hand still throbbed from the bite her Blogroll had given her. While not a nasty bite by any stretch of the imagination, Anna couldn’t seem to find the place in her head where she could erase the bite and move on, and so it continued to hurt.

Susan had brought her into the fold of the personal bloggers a few days ago now and she was slowly settling in. There were a lot of bloggers still racing around and trying to outdo each other, but it wasn’t anything that Anna couldn’t cope with. The pace was less frenzied in this section of the InterWebs and while the advertising continued to flash at her, it didn’t seem quite so bright anymore.

The personal bloggers were an interesting mix of people, some parents and some not. The parents amongst them tended to call themselves Mummyblogger Rejects, which seemed a little harsh to Anna, surely the Mummybloggers didn’t reject anyone? She’d only left because she couldn’t seem to fit in and that was her own issue.

Anna wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore and her grandiose dreams of InterWeb life seemed a very long way away, when compared to the unReality of the situation she was in.

Since she had moved over to the Personal Blogger section of the InterWebs, Anna had felt like she could breathe a little easier. It wasn’t so perfectly shiny and happy over here and there was some grit and substance to the bloggers, which she liked. It suited her here, better than the Mummybloggers had, with their perfect children and smiling personas.

It’s strange though, thought Anna, I’m not sure what is actually different here. The label, yes, the pressure, probably, but these women, they’re all the same really.

Anna was busy pondering this when a group of women ran past her, looking frenzied. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening, when the shouts started.

“BANDWAGON!”

“QUICK, SOMEONE CATCH IT!”

The women jostled her and she found herself being moved along with the group, quite without wanting to. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be trampled.

The shouting started again.

“QUICK QUICK, THERE IT GOES!”

“DID YOU GET IT? DAMMIT, SOMEONE CATCH IT!”

Carefully, Anna maneuvered herself to the side of the crowd, to try and see what was happening. The press of bodies didn’t make this easy and they were running faster and faster. Beside her ran a stocky looking women with dark hair. Anna tugged on her sleeve.

“I’m new here, can you tell me what’s happening?”

The stocky woman looked at Anna, and answered without breaking stride. “It’s the Bandwagon love, we’re trying to catch it.”

Anna wasn’t any less confused. “A bandwagon? But what’s a Bandwagon?”

“You jump on it love, and do things as a group. They’re powerful, Bandwagons are.” The stocky woman put her head down and ran faster.

“But why?” Anna asked.

“Why love? Because we can. Why not? There’s power in groups love, lots of power.”

Without a backwards glance, she pushed through the people in front of her and disappeared.

Anna wasn’t certain this was what she wanted to be doing, but the push and crush of the crowd made it impossible for her to escape.

Suddenly, a giant cry went up from the crowd and the running slowed. It appeared the Bandwagon had been caught.

The excitement in the crowd was palpable and Anna had to fight to not get caught up in the heady rush of peer pressure. The people behind her were pushing forwards and she moved with the crowd, completely trapped now. Keeping her eyes on the backs of the women in front of her, she moved along.

Then she was being helped up into the Bandwagon and even though it looked like she would never fit, a space opened up for her. The stocky woman was sitting across from her.

“I see you made it here okay then love?”

Anna nodded, still out of breath from the chase.

She looked around.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

“Why, we’re on the Bandwagon love! It’s going to empower us to make changes in the InterWebs and we’ll be able to use it to our advantage!”

“What kinds of changes?” Anna was normally a smart woman, but the Bandwagon jumping confused her.

“Well, this Bandwagon is about fairness for all bloggers. It’s showing us all how to behave, so that we can all get along. Isn’t that just what we need?”

Anna looked away. She didn’t think that this was exactly what she needed.

“Where do Bandwagons come from then?” she asked after a time.

“This one’s Jennifer’s love. She’s had some cracking ideas lately, ways for bloggers to get along and make money and it’s just lovely.”

Anna was even more dubious about the Bandwagon now. The rumours about Jennifer had been steadily growing since she left the Mummyblogger camp – rumours of Jennifer making decisions for the entire community and there was talk of a rethinking how a community works. She wasn’t sure she wanted a Queen in the InterWebs, not even a queen of the relatively small Mummybloggers.

She looked around, trying to work out if she could get off. It looked like there was a path back off to one side, if she could just reach it. Standing up, she braved the crush of sitting people.

“Excuse me, sorry, can I just get through…. thank you so much.”

A few minutes and countless trodden toes later, she was able to climb off the Bandwagon.

Standing in the open air again, she was able to breathe.

Looking around, there seemed to be a few bloggers who had decided that this bandwagon wasn’t for them, or who hadn’t climbed on in the first place. Anna smiled at them and one woman smiled back, before walking over.

“Are you okay? You look a bit shaken.”

Anna laughed. “Yes, I’m fine. My first experience of a Bandwagon, that’s all.”

“Ahhhh.” The woman smiled knowingly. “That’s okay, you get used to them. The key is finding out whether it’s something you truly believe in before you jump on.”

“I know that now” said Anna.

With one last pat on the shoulder, the woman made to walk off.

“You’ll be okay?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine.” said Anna.

Taking a deep breath, Anna turned around and walked away. Behind her, the Bandwagon trailed off, taking the bloggers with it.

Anna was sure that Bandwagons were perfectly alright for some people, in some cases.

But she just wasn’t sure that they were right for her.

She throws sensibility to the wind as she races through the grass. A quick spin and then laughter and she feels alive for the first time in days. As she walks back towards her shoes, she decides that sensibility is a curse and is not to be inflicted on anyone.

She leaves with a promise to buy striped purple leggings and wildly inappropriate shoes.

To wear jewellery simply because she likes it and to buy a whimsical scarf.

To dress in red and yellow and to stop and taste the sunshine.

To write about whatever she takes a fancy to, regardless of whether it’s truthful, and to write often.

These things, she promises herself.

You need to read this first, or my response will make no sense. If you’re anything like me, that post won’t make any sense either, but that’s okay. I don’t think it’s meant to.

***

It had been a week since Bloggerbelle had talked with “Sarah” from the land of PR and she was beginning to feel like she’d been duped. She had read Sarah’s version of the conversation and she was rather displeased with how she’d been portrayed. She certainly wasn’t as stupid as Sarah thought she was and she suspected that Sarah was actually a witch, trained in the art of double talk and confusion.

After stewing on these facts for a while, she decided to travel to the land of PR and confront Sarah. Leaving her child with a baby sitter (Sarah might have claimed she was a beautiful princess of Blog, but she was wrong about a lot of things) she travelled for a long time to reach Sarah’s kingdom.

The people of PR were tricky you see and frequently moved around to curtail complaints, and avoid the worst of the dark and stormy weather.

When she finally found Sarah, they sat down together for a coffee. Bloggerbelle had lots of questions.

‘Sarah, when last we spoke, I walked away confused. We spoke about compensation and giveaways and yet, I don’t feel that my questions were addressed, or even adequately represented in the post you wrote.’ Bloggerbelle continued. ‘I think you misunderstood what I meant when I said I was asking for compensation. I was approached by people from the land of PR, who asked if I would review a product and host a giveaway. Then I was disheartened when my requests for compensation were turned down.’

Sarah looked at her and then spoke carefully, ‘Bloggerbelle, we discussed the problem of compensation, remember?’

‘I remember, and yet, I walked away without learning anything’. Bloggerbelle hardened her mind to any tricks that Sarah was trying to use on her.

‘The land of PR offered me a product to review and then giveaway on my blog and yet, they wouldn’t give me compensation for the time and effort required to run a giveaway. Tell me Sarah, are you being paid?’

‘Well, yes, I’m being paid but -’

‘Are you being paid in money? Honest to goodness money? Or does the King of PR send you home at the end of the week with product samples to see you through?’

‘It’s not the point! I’m doing my job!’

Bloggerbelle had thought about this on the long trip to the land of PR.

‘Sarah, I am doing my job too. I am spending time writing copy for a blog post, I am moderating comments and organising a giveaway, don’t I deserve to get paid also?’

Sarah looked annoyed. Very annoyed. Dark clouds gathered above her head and Bloggerbelle started to realise why the land of PR was dark and stormy.

‘I accept that you are taking time and effort to put together a blog post, but you’re a blogger! We don’t have a budget to pay bloggers!’

Bloggerbelle didn’t agree that there wasn’t a budget.

‘Sarah, I think you do have a budget, otherwise you wouldn’t have a client. I just don’t think you’re willing to share any part of your budget with bloggers.’

Sarah spluttered a bit and Bloggerbelle tried a different tack.

‘Sarah, I am using my trust capital and my sphere of influence to promote a product for your client. I have worked hard to build up an audience and regardless of what you think of their worth, I know that I am worth more than a few boxes of cereal.’

Sarah looked shocked as Bloggerbelle kept talking.

‘You might believe that we’re all alike in the Land of Blog Sarah, but we’re not. I know that if I turn down a chance to work with you that you will find someone else willing to work for nothing. I am okay with this. I am concerned with my long term reputation, not my short term gain. And frankly, if people assume I’m getting paid anyway, then why should I do the work for nothing?’

Bloggerbelle stood up quickly and nodded to Sarah. Without a backwards glance, she left Sarah still spluttering behind her.

While she wasn’t yet sure what she wanted to get out of her blog, she did know that she wasn’t prepared to sell herself for nothing. After all, how could she give her child all the pretty things in the kingdom if she wasn’t being paid for anything?

She knew that she was worth more than that and she wasn’t prepared to sell herself short.

The air grows cold around her, as she sits outside waiting. Waiting for something else, for something more. Waiting for inspiration to strike, for the nerve to enter her house again and willingly sink herself into chaos.

A small shiver passes through her as she watches the swallows swoop and dive, a mating ritual as old as time. She looks at the sky and wishes for warmth and long hot days.

Outside, she is nothing but herself. No one hiding in her clothes, no demands, no requests. She can be herself, without the suffocating needs of others, without having to mould herself into whatever is needed at the time. A mother, a partner, a nurse, a mediator, a lover. Here, she is herself.

The rain starts, small drops dotting her shirt. She raises her head to the sky and looks at them as they fall, wondering where she went wrong, wondering what happened that she lost herself so badly.

I was more than this.

With the birth of her first child, her identity decreased a little. Strangers addressed her as Mummy and she smiled and nodded. Inside her head she screamed I have a name! I am more than Mummy! I am myself. Why have you forgotten that?

A cry that women have uttered since the dawn of time.

And still, even as she loses her identity, it is never enough. The world tells her what she is doing wrong with a cacophony of sound: you should have stayed home; gone back to work; read them more books; vaccinated; not vaccinated; played them classical music; done more. You’re doing it all wrong.

Being their mother is not enough, the world demands more.

She sits outside, her face turned to the rain.

Just a little longer. I want to be me, for just a few more moments.

As she heads inside again, she breathes deeply and tucks these moments away. These stolen moments that tell her I am more than this moment. I can do this, no matter that it feels like I am drowning.

Allowing her to hold onto her sanity through the worst of times, these are the times she craves.

She steps back inside and welcomes the chaos as it envelopes her.

Part One

Part Two

***

Anna had been in the InterWebs for a few weeks now and she was slowly getting the hang of it. Food was different here and the noise when she was amongst the Mummybloggers was horrendous.

I’m happy here. This is good. This is what I wanted.

However as much as she thought it and repeated it like a mantra, she still wasn’t sure. The happiness was palpable and no one ever seemed to get tired. Anna opened her laptop to check her About Page again. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop the thing tarnishing.

Sighing, she lifted her head and looked around.

The garish lights of the InterWebs were everywhere and she thought she could see the flashing .gif banners encroaching on her little bubble. Did it look like they were … alive? No. Surely not. She gave her head a little shake and bent back to her About Page, editing and re-editing the thing.

The Mummybloggers had been so lovely, taking her in and walking her through the Interwebs. She was going to be forever in their debt. They’d explained the importance of a Blogroll and a page for prospective advertisers. She was excited about the idea of making money from her writing.

She finished up her About Page and looked it over – the tarnish had retreated yet again, and Anna was looking crisp and confident.

And while I’m here, I may as well take care of the Blogroll.

Anna didn’t like her Blogroll much. The horrid thing was snappy and nasty, it kept trying to take her fingers off. It didn’t seem to matter what she did to try and contain it, the thing was never happy. Adding links, removing links, it never ended.

Maybe I shouldn’t have removed any links she thought. But no, those blogs were dead! Their owners disappeared back to Reality and I couldn’t really leave their links there, could I?

Nevertheless, the Blogroll snapped at her fingers and snarled as she tried to update it. It always seemed hungry and irritable. She had had other Mummybloggers complain that their links weren’t there and she was starting to get sick of the entire thing.

SNAP!

OUCH. FUCK.

It BIT ME.

The fucking thing BIT me.

Anna suspected that swearing had just undone all the work that she’d done on her About Page, but she didn’t really care. Holding her finger up to the light she looked for blood, before remembering where she was.

InterWebs. Right. You don’t bleed here. Not real blood anyway.

Making up her mind quickly, she sat on her Blogroll and as it fought and twisted away from her, she pressed the Delete button.

A little pop and it was gone.

Phew. All that angst and energy and it’s gone.

She felt lighter already. There had been a lot of complaining about who was and wasn’t on her blogroll and she might have made a few enemies when she couldn’t be bothered wrestling with the thing to add links to it.

Hungry little fucker.

She sucked on her finger and debated fixing her About Page yet again. Anna understood the importance of a good About page, the cynical guide in the beginning had explained it, but really, the tarnish was driving her wild.

As she looked around, someone sidled up behind her and sat down with a flump.

‘Arrgh!’

Anna jumped.

‘Who are you?’

‘Susan.’

Anna was expecting a little more information than that.

‘You scared me.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Anna.’

‘Sorry. I’m not normally here on the Mummyblogger side of things.’ Susan twirled a lock of hair, looking a little ashamed. ‘I’m not really welcome here.’

Anna looked her up and down. She looked nice enough.

‘Why is that?’

‘I disagreed with Jennifer once. In the beginning.’

Jennifer was the leader of the Mummybloggers, the bubbly blonde woman who had welcomed Anna in the weeks previously.

Anna gave a wry laugh. ‘I can’t imagine anyone disagreeing with Jennifer.’ Secretly she thought I can’t imagine anyone having the guts to disagree with Jennifer.

‘Oh I did. It was …. well. It wasn’t pretty.’

Anna laughed again. ‘I can imagine.’

Susan looked at her. ‘You don’t look happy.’

Anna sighed. She had been hoping that the recent edits on her About page would have hidden that.

‘I’m not.’

‘Why?’

It all poured out in a rush. ‘My About Page keeps tarnishing, no matter what I do. My Blogroll just BIT me and I deleted it – all that work, gone. The lights here make my head hurt and if I have to listen to someone else rave about how cuuuuuute their kid is I might just puke. Where is the real life? These women, every single thing is perfect and it’s driving me mad, because I’m not perfect too.’

Anna stopped to breath and Susan put her arm around her shoulders.

‘Anna? I know exactly how you feel.’

They looked at each other and burst into giggles.

‘Oh my God, I thought I was the only one. I haven’t sworn for WEEKS and my head hurts from being positive and shiny.’

They laughed harder.

‘Would you like to meet some real women?’

‘God, would I ever?’

‘We’ve got our bad apples too, but we’re all real. I promise.’

‘What do you call yourselves? I was told we needed to know what we were in order to cope here.’

‘We label ourselves Personal Bloggers, but really, we’re just Bloggers. Most of us are Mummyblogger rejects. So we’re probably Mummybloggers too, just not happy happy joy joy Mummybloggers.’

Susan stood and Anna followed suit. ‘Come on’ said Susan ‘We’re not that far away.’

Susan walked off and Anna followed close behind her.

Finally, she was going to meet some real people.

Well.

As real as anything ever got in the InterWebs.

***

Part Four Here

Part One Here

***

She wandered out into the InterWebs; the group that she had arrived with disappearing rather fast. She hadn’t expected it and looked up sharply when she found she was alone – well, as alone as a woman could be in the middle of millions of other people.

Walking out into the crowds, she was swept along unnoticed.

Previously, the woman had been small and mousey. The addition of a slightly fabricated About Page had cheered her up and her eyes looked brighter too. Back in Reality, her real self was stuck picking up after children and washing dirty clothes, but here, in the InterWebs, she was free to wander.

‘A Mummyblogger’ she sighed in disgust. ‘I’ve heard such horrid things about Mummybloggers. I don’t want to be one of those.’ She thought about it some more. ‘Maybe I could be a MummyBlogger though. I have read some good ones and they do seem to have such good fun.’

The possiblity of having good fun seemed like a better option than worrying about what nameless people thought of a label stuck to her in any case.

Signs around her pointed the way and she walked forwards, hoping that she was heading towards the Mummybloggers.

Welcome to the InterWebs!! one sign screeched at her; the garish red and yellow lettering hurting her eyes.

In every direction animated looking people shuffled about in groups. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but here didn’t look quite right. The more out of her depth she felt, the more Reality appealed to her. Reality wasn’t scary and bright like this place. The trees had more colour and she wondered why, until her mind clicked – photoshopping. Right.

As she moved through the crowds, they parted like water to let her through and seamlessly closed up behind her. When she hazarded a glance back the way she’d came, she could see that her passing had had no effect on her fellow InterWebbians.

She sighed, and as she grew dejected she lost some of her sparkle. Her About Page grew tarnished and she shrunk down into herself, confidence fading. Up ahead there was a park bench in the middle of the mayhem. There was just enough room for her to sit down if she could just ….

‘Excuse me, excuse me, sir, please, if I could just get through….’

She pushed her way through and sat down with a flomp.

Opening her laptop case, she read through her About Page again, trying to remind herself why she was here.

Mother of two … likes reading and writing …. photography makes me happy …

She wasn’t impressed. Her moments of self doubt had tarnished the bloody thing to high heaven. She sat down to rework it and slowly, she gained her zazzle and confidence back. The tarnish pushed away for now, she looked around and oh! A bubbly blonde woman stood in front of her, talking loudly in a vaguely Southern twang.

‘Hi! How are you? You look new here, is there anything we can do to help, would you like a cup of tea, a biscuit, a sit down, we’ve got a very nice spot over under the tree there and you’re more than welcome to join us?’

She spoke very fast and the previously mousey woman wasn’t sure she’d caught everything.

‘Hello.’

She looked at the bright bubbly woman in front of her and held out her hand.

‘I’m Anna and yes, I’m new here.’

The bubbly woman, who hadn’t stood still for a second yet looked at her outstretched hand and laughed.

‘Oh aren’t you just adorable! We don’t shake hands here honey, we give hugs, here come and get a hug!’

Bending, she hugged Anna until her ribs felt near to bursting.

‘Come on, come over and sit with us. We’ll talk you through everything and you can have a biscuit and a nice cup of tea. Would you like me to carry anything? Come now, watch him, don’t trip over, he’s a tech blogger and they don’t like to be interrupted, never mind her, she’s not sure what she’s here for and him, we’ll he’s nice enough, although you haven’t heard the rumours yet have you? Never mind, come along.’

Anna felt like she was drowning in a sea of words and she clung to her hand as they marched across the open space to where a group of women sat around with laptops. The noise as she reached them was overwhelming, but she resolved to enjoy herself. After all, she didn’t have to stay, did she.

Her guide dragged her forwards and stood her in front of the group.

‘Girls! Girls! I’ve found a new one!’

‘Oh fantastic’ ‘I wonder where she came from’ ‘I hope she’ll like me’ ‘A new one, yay!’ ‘Oh no, another one, really? Don’t you think we have enough?’

The voices murmured around her and she stood and smiled, hoping that her faked confidence wasn’t having any effect on her newly edited About Page.

Slowly a spot cleared for her and hands reached out, helping to settle her into her spot.

‘I hope she’s comfortable’ ‘She looks nice’ ‘I wish I’d found her’ the murmuring continued.

‘Girls! For goodness sakes, give her a moment to collect a thought!’

The women moved back slightly and Anna breathed deeply as someone pressed a cup of tea into her hand. She took a sip and then exhaled.

‘Oh this is lovely.’

For all the pressing in and the noise, she found the company excellent. Much better than the jaded tour guide in the beginning . All these women wanting to know her. The community. That was the word. Even though it felt a little restrictive, she thought she could be happy here.

She looked around and her eyes had gained some brightness.

‘Hello and thank you for the lovely welcome. My name is Anna and I’m going to be a Mummyblogger!’

The voices bubbled around her and the women, they swept her in and held her in their depths, congratulating her on her choice.

In the back of her mind though, she wasn’t sure that she was going to fit in here. But that small part of her brain was slowly being squashed by the nature of the InterWebs and the women surrounding her. The candy sweetness and the joyful light surrounding everyone, that was addictive.

As she looked over her checklist, a shy woman held out her hand.

‘Welcome Anna. Welcome to the InterWebs.’

She didn’t hear the sinister undertone as all the women repeated it. She was just happy to be here.

***

Part Three Here

She stands at the kitchen sink, steadily washing dishes. Behind her, the baby whines, discontent with the lack of attention. She moves  faster in the hot water and hurriedly finishes the last few items, before wiping her hands and scooping the baby up into her arms. She snuggles his neck and he giggles, content now that attention is being paid.

The baby on her hip, she slowly makes her way through the house, straightening books and picking up laundry. He twirls his fingers in her hair and she shakes her head away, not enjoying the pulling.

She finishes up and surveys the house, looking for things she may have missed.

This is not what I was meant to be doing with my life she thinks, as bending, she places the baby in the high chair and moves to the kitchen to make lunch for him. Looking at the clock she is struck by how slowly time is moving.

She is methodical as she peels potatoes and carrots for lunch. She boils the water and plays peek-a-boo while the vegetables cook and the baby gets steadily grumpier. It’s almost naptime and she is looking forward to the silence it will bring.

It’s like this every day. The eternal drudgery. The washing of dishes and clothes and mucky handprints on the walls. The cooking of food that is never eaten and the picking up of toys unplayed with.

He starts to cry in earnest and she looks at him and talks cheerfully, almost cooing the words.

‘What a great big boy you’re going to be. Mummy is just going to mash these vegetables and then you’re going to eat them and stop crying aren’t you. You’re going to nap and leave Mummy alone for a bit, yes, yes you are.’

He looks at her as she mashes his vegetables and blows on them to cool them.

She walks towards him and sitting on the floor in front of him, she starts the song and dance to get him to eat.

He smiles at her and the first 3 mouthfuls are easy, before the lure of playing in the food is too great and he starts spitting to examine it. Resigned to the mess, she lets him examine some as she puts as much food in his mouth as she can before he grows bored of her.

The bowl empties slowly and she stands to find a clean wash cloth. By the time she emerges from the bathroom, he has crawled away, leaving smeared food across the floor; tiny handprints marking his disappearance. She chases him down and he giggles as he is caught and then cries as he is cleaned.

They make their way through the naptime routine until he is safely ensconced in his cot and sleeping.

She boils the kettle and makes a cup of tea, moving without thinking now.

I used to be a person she thinks. I wonder what happened to me?

She moves through the kitchen, holding her cup of tea until she is sitting outside, in the first rays of Spring sunshine.

The cat twines underfoot and she closes her eyes and lifts her face to the sun, reminding herself to just keep breathing.

The cat jumps on her lap and startled, she drops the cup, spilling hot tea on herself and shattering the mug. She swears, loudly, before breathing deeply and moving to pick up the shards of porcelain.

As careful as she is, she cuts herself and sits back on her haunches, watching her finger drip blood. Her skin, bright red where the tea hit it, stings in the cool air.

Her fingertip glistens red and the sun shines through the blood like red diamonds.

It reminds her that no matter what, she is still alive.

The travellers sat in a carriage that was a little bit too small for them. Pressed against their neighbours, they were privy to things they weren’t sure they wanted to know.

Outside, the world streaked past, faster than you’d expect, but slower than they wanted it to.

In the front of the carriage a bored tour guide stood up and turned to them.

‘And here we leave the last vestiges of Reality. If you look out of your windows, you can see it trickling away.’ She started to look less bored and more peppy.

‘Right!’

She had cheered up immeasurably, obviously Reality bored her. ‘We’re nearly there. Do you have your checklists?’

‘Yes.’ they all chimed back at her.

The colour streaked back into the tour guide’s face and slowly she became prettier and curvier too. The lack of Reality suited her.

‘Let’s go through the checklist now. Do you all have your About Pages?’

A hand streaked into the air and a small mousey woman began to speak.

‘I don’t have an About Page. I’d really just prefer people didn’t know who I was…’ she trailed off as the tour guide glared at her.

‘You need an About Page.’

‘But -’

‘You need an About Page.’ she turned to the entire carriage and swept her arms wide.’You all need About Pages. Do you know why?’

They didn’t know why, but no one was game to say so.

The tour guide sighed. ‘Look out there! Go on, look!’

They peered out of the windows, the carriage had slowed now. Outside were thousands of people, absorbing information from every venue. They looked … animated.

‘Those people, they don’t care about you.’ the tour guide boomed. ‘They have no idea who you are and frankly, they don’t give a shit. You could be the next Christ and they wouldn’t give a fuck. Not without an About Page.’

‘But I want to be anonymous. I don’t want -’

The tour guide cut her off again.

‘Lady, everyone is anonymous here. No one cares who you are in Reality, this is the InterWebs. You can be whoever you like. Just for Gods sake, write yourself an About Page. Fictionalise it, anything, but you will not survive without one. People will look at you and if they don’t know who you are in the InterWebs, they will slide right past. Short attention spans you see.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s nothing personal.’

The mousey woman bent to her laptop and started typing. Slowly she grew brighter and a little taller too. Her eyes sparkled and she looked less mousey.

The tour guide reiterated ‘You can be anyone here. No one cares.’

With a flurry of heads they all bent to their About Pages and updated themselves; the change in the mousey woman spurring them on. By the time the train drew into the station, they were all shining with confidence.

‘Okay’ said the tour guide. ‘Sorting time.’

‘Sorting?’ someone asked.

‘Yes, sorting. You have to know where you fit into the InterWebs don’t you? Otherwise you’ll get nowhere and I’ll have to take you back to Reality.’

‘Oh.’

They shuffled nervously, no one wanted to be sorted.

‘Right, you. What do you write about?’

‘Ummm, my children mostly -’

‘MUMMYblogger. Go and stand over there.’

‘But I’m not a MUMMYblogger…’

‘You write about your children, right?’

‘Yes…’

‘And occasionally you’ll post recipes. You dabble in photography and sometimes your photos work and sometimes they don’t, but you post them anyway. You’ll accept money to review products and you will enjoy the free stuff.’

‘Ummmm -’

‘You sound like a MUMMYblogger. Don’t worry, the InterWeb has thousands of them. You’ll find plenty of people that you like. Hell, you might even write a book and wouldn’t that be just what Reality needs?’

The tour guide sounded cynical.

‘What do you write about?’

‘Technology and stuff.’

‘You’re in for Tech then.’

‘Xbox Games’

‘Oh, another gamer. Exactly what we needed’

‘The state of the InterWebs’

She sighed. ‘Geek. Another one.’

‘Fashion and Reality Stars’

‘Really? That’s who you are?’

He nodded.

‘Right. Perez Hilton wannabe’

Slowly they were sorted, whether they liked it or not.

The tour guide stood and looked at her little group. ‘These niches aren’t all defining. You’re not stuck there forever, it’s just where you’ll be happiest. You may branch out, you can write about anything. The InterWebs isn’t like Reality, there are no rules here.’

They nodded impatiently, wanting to leave the too small carriage as fast as possible.

‘Can we go now?’ the Perez Hilton wannabe asked.

‘As soon as we go over the last of the checklists. You’ve got About Pages? And Content? You also need a Contact Page, otherwise no one will be able to find you.’

They checked their files and nodded again.

‘Right, you’re good to go then. Remember, some of you will find Sponsors and some of you won’t. It would be wise to create a BlogRoll once you find a group you like. Have a walk around your niche and see how it feels. If you find you dislike it here, the train leaves once an hour to take you back to Reality. We don’t advise you leave and return often though.’

She looked around at her newest group. They were exactly like the last group and the next group would be exactly like these ones. The InterWebs didn’t promote originality in its overall use, just in its content.

She bent her head to her clipboard and then looked up.

‘Disclaimers: You need to listen and then sign and then you can disappear. Agreed?’

She looked at them while they murmured their assent.

‘The InterWebs will not be held responisble for anything you do here. Your will is still your own and your decisions and the consequences thereof will be held by you in your entirety. While it is advised you stick to your niche, you are under no obligation to do so. Anyone caught stealing content will be evicted back to Reality. Do you agree to this?’

They agreed and one by one, they stepped forward to add their mark to the document.

The tour guide stepped back and watched them leave. Bending her head she checked her watch and boarded the train back to Reality again. Another group would be through in an hour.

They always were.

***

See Part Two Here

‘Where have all the writers gone?!’ she cried, clasping her hands together in despair. Frantically she clicked through the blogosphere, looking for writing.

And here is Nancy on her first outing to the ZOO! See her ribbon? Isn’t she cute! one blog screamed at her.

‘Are you a writer?’ she said hopefully.

The blog scoffed at her. ‘No! I am a MOMMYblogger. Hear me ROAR.’

Hastily she skipped away before the poison pen could destroy her.

Then! I spilled red wine ALL over the carpet and OMG I was SO UPSET. BUT! Now, there are these awesome…

‘Are you a writer?’ she asked timidly, a little scared now from her MOMMYblogger experience, but still hopeful.

‘How dare you!’ screeched the second blog, now a little stained with red wine. ‘Compare ME? To a penniless writer? Of course I’m not a writer! I’m a reviewer. Do you need anything reviewed? I can do it, you just need to send it to me, along with a second sample for me to give away…’

Frantically she pressed her back button, only to be faced with the MOMMYblogger again.

Home! Home! Home! Three times she clicked her home button and luckily, her home page loaded quickly. The relative safety of Google sat looking at her.

One last try she thought. Or maybe two. Surely there are writers out there somewhere?

A third time she clicked.

I’m so lonely. She read. So lonely. The baby isn’t any company and I’m stuck at home all day changing nappies. Didn’t I used to be a human being too? Worthy? Now who am I…

Carefully she asked ‘Are you a writer?’

The blog looked at her sadly. ‘No. I am not a writer. I am merely journaling my days as a mother, so that when my daughter has children she can read it. I am not a writer.’

Sad now, the woman clicked away.

One last try she thought.

And there I stood, surrounded by emptiness, thoughts running through my head…

‘Excuse me.’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t help noticing you. Are you a writer!’

‘Of course I am!’ the blog scoffed. Then carefully ‘why?’

‘Well because I would like to be a writer too.’

The blog clapped it’s hands. ‘OH GOOD! We need more writers here in the blogosphere. Come with me. I’ll show you how to be a writer.’

The woman followed the blog, up hill and down dale, through Google and back out the other side. Finally, they stood in front of a small house. The blog walked up to the door and knocked. The door opened.

‘Oh! It’s you. Come in, come in. Who have you brought? Never mind. We need all the writers we can get.’

The woman followed the two blogs through the house, until they came to a room filled with tiny little people. A baby gate on the door kept them inside. The noise was deafening, nearly a hundred little people clamouring to be heard over one another.

The blog looked at the woman.

‘Take out your writer.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Your writer. Take it out!’

The woman didn’t understand. She wanted to be a writer, not get rid of her writer.

‘I don’t understand.’

The blog sighed. ‘Your inner writer. Take it out.’

‘But I don’t know how.’

The blog looked at her sharply. ‘You don’t know how?’

‘No.’

‘Reach into your soul. Inside you will find a little writer. Pull it out. This is the only way to becoming one of us.’

The woman did. Reaching into her soul, she felt around until she could feel her little writer. Tugging, she pulled.

It hurt. Oh how it hurt, but she pulled anyway. If this was the only way, then she was determined to do it too. She felt something inside her give and carefully, she extracted a tiny little caricature of herself.

The blog gasped. ‘Oh the poor little dear! Look at how sick she is. You’ve been neglecting her!’

The woman was taken aback. ‘No I haven’t. I’ve been trying to be a writer.’

‘Oh but you’ve been doing it all wrong and look how badly you’ve messed it up. It’s going to take weeks before you can write anything of your own.’

The woman looked at her little writer sadly.

‘Now, give her to the Nanny.’

‘What?!’

‘Give your writer to the Nanny! She will look after her for you until she is strong and well.’

Carefully, the woman handed her writer over to the Nanny. The Nanny bustled away with the writer curled in her hands.

‘Come and have a cup of tea’ the blog said.

The woman felt empty inside now but she agreed. Seating herself, she peppered the blog with questions.

‘Can I visit?’

‘No. Not for a while. Your writer needs time alone, without you bothering it. It needs to be with other writers.’

‘But I can’t leave her alone! She needs me. It was hard enough to hand her over to the Nanny and walk away. You can’t expect me to go away and not visit.’ Tears streamed down her face. The emptiness inside grew bigger and bigger.

‘What she needs is a group of other writers to play with. She needs our group exercises and to build her trust in writing again. Don’t worry, she will be safe and supported here. We will keep her healthy and strong. We won’t let anyone criticise her.’

The woman sniffed, still not convinced this was the only way to becoming a writer.

‘What do you do here?’

‘Oh everything.’ the blog announced. ‘We do group exercises, we allow your writer to stretch her wings without any criticism, we foster trust and we teach your writer how to network.’

‘But what about the technical skills of writing? Do you teach those?’

‘Of course not!’ the blog scoffed. ‘Who needs technical skills when there is a group of supportive writers to watch your back?’

‘I thought you were going to teach her how to be a writer!’

‘We are. Don’t fuss your pretty little head. When she comes back to you, she will be able to write.’

‘Will it be any good though? The writing?’

The blog looked at the woman, hard. ‘Good is subjective though, isn’t it. As long as the other writers think she is good, she will be fine.’

‘You said there were group exercises. What are they?’

‘We give out a topic and all the writers are expected to write on that topic. Then we run around and read everyone’s writing and make sure that the writers have done it properly, to our standards.’

‘I think I read some of those, a few weeks back. They all sounded the same.’

The woman sipped at her cup of tea and looked at the blog. Her advertising had started to flash a little faster now with all these questions.

‘Good. That’s how they know they’re doing it right.’

‘But I don’t want my writer to sound like other writers.’

‘I’m sorry. This is the only way to become a writer and not be merely a blogger.’ The blog’s advertising flashed dangerously now.

The woman finished the last of her tea and stood up.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can be part of this. I want to be my own writer, not be part of your giant writer.’

The blog looked shocked. ‘Without us, you’ll be just a blogger!’

The woman thought about it. ‘I think I can handle that.’ She walked across the hall to the room filled with other people’s writers. In the corner, her’s sat huddled alone. Stepping over the gate, she rushed over to it and picked it up.

‘Poor little pet’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry, I should have left you how you were. You don’t want to sound like everyone else, do you.’ Her writer shook her head sadly.

The woman stepped back over the gate, careful not to crush anyone else’s writer. Stepping lightly now, she left the house with the writers and the blogs clamouring after her.

‘The cheek! To think she can get along without us!’

She smiled before tucking her writer back into her soul. Her empty feeling dissipated and she could almost feel her writer snuggle back down.

Ideas rushed into her head as she made her way home again and she thought about paragraphs she could write when she got home. She knew now where all the writers had gone and she didn’t want to be one of them.

A faint cry of ‘You’re doing it ALL WRONG!’ floated to her ears.

She didn’t care. Right or wrong, she was doing this her way.

No one else mattered.

Hannah walked through a darkened field. Barefoot, she felt the grass under her feet, slightly wet and softly spongy. The air was frosty and she saw her breath sparkle in front of her face, although she wasn’t cold. She wasn’t sure where she was going, or why, but she knew something was driving her forwards.

Unwilling now, her feet continued their slow march forwards. The feel of the ground underneath her changed and sharp rocks bruised her soles with every step. She stepped gingerly, afraid to put her feet down, scared of what she might find. Thorns caught at her as she moved and vines trailed up her legs, attempting to pull her down into their midst. She was left bloody and raw as she tried to move away from their grasp.

She struggled on as sprites flew about her head, batting at her face and pulling at her hair. Something tweaked her nose and ran away laughing as she screamed in desperation. The vines had wound around her torso now, leaving her unable to move. Sobbing, she let them pull her feet out from under her and she lay down amongst the stones and thorns. Laughter echoed in the distance as she shut her eyes.

Hannah gave up struggling and pushed herself into the darkness. The world turned on its head and dumped her upside down and screaming through space. For long moments she fell before simply stopping gently and coming to rest.

‘Where …. Where am I?’ she called quietly.

Nothing answered. She hung, suspended in time and space, unseeing and unknowing.

‘Help! Help me! I’m lost!’ she cried desperately.

Slowly the ground coalesced underneath her and she felt softness pillowing her head. Gentle hands stroked her, soothing her tears and hurts.

‘You’re safe now’ they said and Hannah trusted them implicitly.

She relaxed into their care, feeling softer and safer than ever before. The hands that stroked her became firmer until they bound like iron and she couldn’t move. She struggled against them but the more she moved the tighter the binding became. She opened her mouth to scream and nothing came out. Above her someone knelt and looking at her sadly, brought their weight to bear on her eyes. She could feel the pressure building until she thought her head would explode….

***

It’s a work in progress and I’ll probably play with some wording througout today as I reread it here on the blog.