Things I’ve learned in more than two and a half years of ‘blogging’ and writing for the love of writing. Sharing it with the world. Or the four or five of you people who like to read my stuff. Or have some familial loyalty and don’t want to be caught unawares if my blog is mentioned (not that I do that…).
Readers are fickle.
After this post I will be four posts shy of 1000 blogs.
And I still don’t know what to expect from readers.
I feel it’s fair to say this because not only do I write blogs, I am an avid blog reader. I subscribe to oh, maybe fifty, shoot, it might be near a hundred now. I’m too lazy to go check. And I don’t know exactly what it is I expect from blogs either. In general: Humor me. Entertain me. Keep me interested. I hate for my brain to be bored. My body can rest occasionally but my brain needs to be reading or processing constantly.
I feel like I’m at a crossroads. Fine, it’s a self imposed/built/imagined crossroads. But it’s there. Which way do I go. What do I do. What is it I write. Who is it I write for. Why is it I write. Where am I going with this. How do I feel about what I’m doing. The crossroads isn’t a big dilemma. It’s just ….. there.
Sometimes when I write about biking I have tons of readers.
Sometimes when I write about family I have tons of readers.
Sometimes I piss someone off.
Sometimes when I write about Ireland you love it.
Well, most of the Ireland posts are loved because I know so many who want to go there.
Sometimes when I write about serious stuff I get indepth and thoughtful responses.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone read it at all.
Sometimes when I write about funny stuff I get some chuckles.
Other times I’m left standing on stage with the crickets chirping.
Sometimes when I post pictures I get feedback on the story in the picture or the vision captured.
There’s a time or two I cringe at the images I’ve posted. Mostly of me. Ah! Self image issues, ALL of them of me!
Sometimes I write something I feel is very powerful
And no one gets it.
Sometimes I write something I think is cheeky and on the verge of crapola
And it strikes a chord in many of you. And I have to reread it through your comments.
Sometimes I struggle with whether to post something or not…is it too personal, is it too serious, is it not quite right.
And I don’t post it because I wrote it for me.
Sometimes I wish I had never told anyone I blogged because I would write more intensely, more openly, more honest
If I was anonymous.
Sometimes I read others blogs and thought “damn that was good! I wish I had written that!”
On occasion….I’ve had others tell me thank you, for putting something important and wordless to them, in perfect rhythm with their feelings.
Sometimes when I write I want to desperately get you a message.
And sometimes I haven’t the courage to say what I want to say.
Always I write.
Because our words matter.
Our message to one another is important.
Maybe that’s all I can expect from myself. To have faith that our words matter. That our messages to one another help us. By making us laugh, making us ponder, by teaching us, making us feel and be aware of one another’s suffering, or celebrate in one another’s joy.
I don’t know what you expect. But I hope you expect something.