There’s no chance of reading a blog written by someone with ADHD and not being faced with some utterly baffling tangents, but I’ll try (try) to file them in separate posts so as not to distress you too much.
Reading back what I’ve written over the last couple of days, I still sound like “me”, if slightly more effusive. I’ve not stuck to the usual clipped sentences and minimalist approach to adjectives: partly because I want to remain accurate to my thought process if this is to be at all useful; and partly because, well, I don’t want to, really, and this isn’t for anyone else, is it?
I wonder if this has much to do with my current heavy consumption of Stephen Fry’s material. I’m listening to one of his autobiographies (audio books are a recently-discovered joy, handy because I can absorb them while keeping Back Brain busy with other things), in which he goes off on sparklingly synonymic tangents and, indeed, staunchly defends his right to do so. I’m also watching Jeeves and Wooster in the evening, which is something I shouldn’t have avoided for so long. Fry and Laurie do Wodehouse justice in a way I truly did not expect them to, much as I adore them.
Unfortunately, I am a terrible mimic when it comes to writing. I don’t mean I’m bad at the mimicry – I’m not, I’m very good at it – but that it is a worrisome habit that I all too frequently indulge in. I want to speak in my own voice, but my own voice is unavoidably made up of all those voices I have absorbed through page and person. This is, I assure you, a fairly accurate rendering of my inner monologue. Sometimes one of those voices shoves to the forefront, in thought or prose, either because it’s most appropriate or, more probably, because it’s closest to hand.
I suppose that if I’d just finished a rereading of Chuck Palahniuk’s works then these first entries might be a good deal more concise and unpleasant. Count yourselves lucky.