This weekend marks the fifth anniversary of my idiot blog. If I’m being painfully candid (and what else can I be with a group of complete strangers?) I have to admit that I don’t have the healthiest relationship with my blog. Nuttycow, one of my original readers who has hung in with me all these years (I hope you don’t mind my quoting, dear) recently said in her comment section:
I tend not to worry about people’s thoughts on my blog. I write for me, when I need to, about things that I need to get off my chest. If people enjoy reading it, all the better. Don’t worry about what other people think—write what you want!
Are you kidding me?! I wish I was HALF as evolved as she is. The fact is, I burn too many brain synapsis obsessing over stats, page hits, comments and the like. I perform comparative analyses until I’m nauseous. Daisyfae, another original from Day One, has taken me to task offline on more than one occasion for this pointless and unhealthy exercise. But since my pathology is here to stay, I’ve decided to consider it part of my boyish charm.
My blog hasn’t always been such a great friend to me. It’s gotten me into trouble a few times. Anytime I’m in crisis mode, I shut down with the intention of never posting again. But three or four weeks will pass by and I’ll start formulating paragraphs in my head while on the subway. I’ll take a photo and ask myself, “What are you going to do with that? You’re not going to post it to your blog, are you?” And then I do.
Despite all that angst, do you know what? I love doing this. It’s important to me. Once in a great while I’ll cough-up a paragraph that’s so well-constructed and so beautifully articulates my point, that I’ll stare at my fingertips in amazement. How does it happen? I have no formal eduction beyond a diploma from a below-average high school. It’s a magic trick. And if you’ll pardon my saying so, I think some of my photos have genuine artistic merit. I live for those fleeting sparks. And if someone takes the time to post a comment? Or actually writes to me offline? That’s as good as my day will get. Where does this yearning for attention come from? Is it simply a part of the human condition or is it more complex than that? It’s a conundrum.
This blog has afforded me a few meet-ups. They’re great. If you get the chance, do it. Having New York City at my disposal helps. I love showing off this big, dirty, stupid, old town. It still feels like home to me, even after a decade of being unbearably banished.
So thank you for your attention. It means more to me than you can imagine. [He takes a bow and doffs his derby.]
Your ‘umble author + sprog