But… I Don’t Hate My Blog…
I’m only posting here because I told Hot Mess Mom I would clean her pool if she let me bogart her blog for a day. Of course she said yes, and then afterwards I found out she lets bears swim in her pool. She’s really sneaky you guys; don’t let her trick you.
And she said I have to write about my love-hate relationship with my blog. (But… I don’t hate my blog! I love my blog!)
Well, I’ll take her topic and expound upon it with utmost exuberance—but as far as the pool-cleaning goes, I’m not touching that shit with a ten-foot pole… (which, incidentally, is exactly what is used to clean a pool.)
The thing about blogging… I love writing. I wrote all the time before I even had a blog. I’ve always had a journal, I’ve always been that annoying friend who writes the unnecessarily eloquent and bizarrely long emails, and in more recent years, I’ve been typing up what I was calling “weird little essays,” and was saving them on my computer. I shared a couple of these essays with some close friends (because I’m a validation whore) and one of the friends encouraged me to start a blog.
That changed things. Before, writing was just for me. Blogging is something different. It has unearthed from the depths of my highly-sensitive bowels an unrelenting and fervent desire to think a thought that’s never been thought, to write it down – and to have people read it and go, “Oh my God, you’re right! I never thought of it that way!” I can’t emphasize the word “fervent” enough here.
I’m sorry kids, what? The house is on fire? Just a sec; let me finish this paragraph real quick. I NEED SILENCE!!!
Consequently, when I publish something that I’m really, really excited about, I gleefully rub my hands together like a villain who’s about to take over the world, sure that this will be the one that connects with people so that they want to comment and share. I imagine how my post will go viral and practically cause the internets to implode, how I’ll celebrate by jumping up on my bed and dancing in my underwear, swinging my hair with unrestrained abandon to Christina Aguillera’s “Feel This Moment.” I haven’t been drinking homemade green juice and exercising like a maniac for shits and giggles, you guys; I want my fuck-yes-it-went-viral moment to look fantastic, and I don’t want to ruin it by getting winded!
And so, following the publication of what I have presumed are the most ingenious two pages of eleven-point-font ever written in the history of the universe, I check my stats every half hour or so.
And… nothing. NOTHING!
This is the worst thing about blogging, the proverbial kick-in-the-balls: Sometimes what you feel is your finest writing is completely disregarded. I frequently go back and read some of my less-read posts and I think “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! THIS SHIT IS GENIUS!”
But alas, my most popular posts have been the ones with the words “slut” and “50 Shades” in the title. Honestly.
In terms of expanding my readership, I’ve asked advice from some of the big-name bloggers who have a substantial fan-base (like HMM), and I always get the same boring-ass answer: Just be you. Don’t change who you are or what you write just so you can gain likes and followers.
So that’s what I’m doing. I won’t pander to an audience who only wants to read about anal beads (EXIT-ONLY ORIFICE!!!); I’m just going to be myself and write what I think is insightful and/or funny, and hope like hell that it connects.
I brood. I’m impatient. I’m anxious. I don’t brush my hair on a regular basis. I drink vegetable juice that tastes like shit because I want to live to be a hundred. I’m uber-thoughtful about random, trivial shit, and I get inappropriately excited when I discover incongruities and irony. I make myself sick pondering the profundities of the vastness of the universe and the logistics of time travel. Small-talk and meaningless social banter make me want to slam my head into a wall. I love a good fart joke. And I adore my kids, but sometimes they make me want to fling myself out the window like the Cowardly Lion does in the Wizard of Oz after the Wizard yells at him. These are the things I write about. Sometimes no one notices or cares.
That’s the love-hate relationship: I spill open the contents of my heart and spread my brain’s legs (validation whore, remember?) so that everyone can get an unobstructed view of the strange amalgam of deep thoughts and low-brow humor comingling within me… and sometimes no one so much as bats an eyelash.
I can’t ask people to fall in love with my writing; they either will or they won’t. And I have to be okay with whichever way the hammer falls. But I can take comfort in the fact that I’m heeding the advice of those other wise bloggers who have counseled me to stay honest and keep it real. That’s how I’ll know that those who are reading Abandoning Pretense are doing so because of the writing.
And that’s the part that I love.
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