In the early days, we jumped when journalists came near. We salivated at the chance for a quote, a link, a soundbite: official recognition by the real world. This blogging lark, covered by real media. We had arrived.

We longed for the frisson of excitement caused by seeing our name (or URL) in the paper, hearing our voice on the airwaves, seeing our site design screengrabbed for an illustration. I’m X, as referenced on these sites, this radio programme and that broadsheet article. I exist and am real. Here is proof.

These days, we’re more likely to turn down offers to appear on radio talking about this odd hobby; write politely back to journalists suggesting they contact relevant friends instead. Not for me; I don’t think so; have you contacted…?

Not bored of it, or above it, but uncomfortable with the attention. Don’t need publicity. Don’t need attention or recognition. Don’t need the cachet of publication. Skittish. Anxious. Cautious.

Need privacy. Need things on our terms. Need to be respected as specialists in our own fields - not necessarily this Next Big Thing, this blogging lark, this hobby.

And so when a long-time dream opportunity comes around - print, regular, credit, money - we opt to use a pseudonym.

Isn’t life funny, sometimes?