Navigating the limitations of the bloggerspehere

You all know me well enough by now to know I'm hardly one of those 'very private person' people. Far from it. I'm a plummet through life, writing the disasters up for your amusement, kind of woman.

If that sounds like the prefix to something a tad more secretive, it is.
Before you all start emailing me going, 'do tell, I'm different to general blog audience' I should say, I will, just give me a while.

I'm being upfront about this because the last time I had a secret to keep from the blog followers, along the lines of rediscovering sausage, (see previous blog, www.talesofachocolatelovinggypsy.blogspot.com) it drove me a tad mad. The world of half truths, great big whoppers told via omission, is just not one I travel through lightly. Don't get me wrong, I'm as happy as the next woman to indulge in the 'no, big?, don't be crazy' whole untruths when faced with the 'is my arse huge?' compliment fishing of friends and family. On the 'me stuff' I write about however, the rules are different.

Maybe the whole Byron / Shelley / Keats obsession with truth (and let's not forget beauty), had something in it.

Maybe I'm just conforming to the writer stereotype well before I need to. Blog stardom is, let's face it, hardly forthcoming via this particular introspective vehicle.

Regardless, I need to be honest with you lot. When I'm not, it pains me. It stops me writing. Or causes me to write meaningless nonsense (see top 13%).

The times, they are a changing, as one very famous poet / songwriter once said. Forgive me if it takes a couple of weeks for me to explain. It's not that I'm scared of sharing, just, I need to work it out for myself first.