Gooniness abounds. I've been told I should start a blog by co-workers, and never have. Until now, obviously. Why? David Brin mentions on his website that he sees how it could sap energy away from other writing pursuits. Neil Gaiman, of course, keeps a charming blog very regularly, and still writes.
There's also the fact that I don't like blogs. Which is to say, there are very few that hold my interest. I am fickle. I find that most people don't write about things that hold my interest. They write about their lives. Some days I am barely interested in mine. Furthermore, I don't have causes or passions. They are exhausting. I have fancies, and they are mostly shallow. All of which means I have little to hold anyone else's interest.
On the other hand, memory is an uphill battle with me. I think it's because I make up so much shit. I have a head full of stories. I think there is a displacement effect: they push real life out of my head. So I would like to preserve what does interest me in my life, and I'm using my vanity to spur that on. A phantom audience may draw me to tell stories about what goes on. I'm thinking a blog might also act as a kind of prosthetic conversation with people I like.