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.In this week's PostSecret . . .
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Nope, it's not mine. My friends are either better friends or better liars.
But I know how she feels. When I finally got the courage to click the orange publish button, unleashing my first blog post on the world,* a battalion of butterflies stormed my belly. I cleverly decided to do it right before bed, so I wouldn't have too much time left in the day for worry. Because, you know, lying in a dark room with nothing but your thoughts is a surefire way to stave off worry, right? When I got up the next morning, I didn't even detour for coffee or a morning tinkle before firing up the computer to see what the world thought about what I had to offer.
Was it unreasonable to expect Tipton Hurst to arrive at any moment with the first of several congratulatory sprays, or the phone to start ringing off the hook with new adoring fans pelting me with praise? Maybe so, because what I got was one lone comment. And it wasn't even on the blog proper, but on the Facebook link that shepherds most of my (13) readers compliantly to the blog. After dedicating weeks to the creation of the Sliver site, days to the crafting of that first intimate and personal post, and hours to mandatory midnight fretting, would you like to know what it said?
It said: Susan, You look great! I love your hair!
Eh. Coulda been worse, I guess. She could have told me that writing like mine is the reason they invented Twitter. (That first post was pretty damn wordy. Let me know if you stuck with me all the way through; you go on the special Christmas card list.) I could sit here and tell you I don't care about comments, but I prefer to restrict my lying to stories about my sex life and the perfection of my child. Truth is, bloggers crave comments. Or at least I do. Comments are the social element that transforms the table for one into a cocktail party, the monologue into a conversation. Comments are the pat on the back that says, you know what, you don't suck. Stick with it.
So I do understand that irked blogger up there. But we both need to listen to Lore Sjöberg when he says, "Creating your own blog is about as easy as creating your own urine, and you're about as likely to find someone else interested in it." If you've taken time to show interest in me by reading, commenting, saying a supportive word in person or through e-mail, or even clicking the little like button~ thanks, I needed that.
And PS, If you're interested, my urine today was a beautiful sight, like clear spring water trickling from a mossy woodland hollow.
.
.
.
.In this week's PostSecret . . .
.
Nope, it's not mine. My friends are either better friends or better liars.
But I know how she feels. When I finally got the courage to click the orange publish button, unleashing my first blog post on the world,* a battalion of butterflies stormed my belly. I cleverly decided to do it right before bed, so I wouldn't have too much time left in the day for worry. Because, you know, lying in a dark room with nothing but your thoughts is a surefire way to stave off worry, right? When I got up the next morning, I didn't even detour for coffee or a morning tinkle before firing up the computer to see what the world thought about what I had to offer.
Was it unreasonable to expect Tipton Hurst to arrive at any moment with the first of several congratulatory sprays, or the phone to start ringing off the hook with new adoring fans pelting me with praise? Maybe so, because what I got was one lone comment. And it wasn't even on the blog proper, but on the Facebook link that shepherds most of my (13) readers compliantly to the blog. After dedicating weeks to the creation of the Sliver site, days to the crafting of that first intimate and personal post, and hours to mandatory midnight fretting, would you like to know what it said?
It said: Susan, You look great! I love your hair!
Eh. Coulda been worse, I guess. She could have told me that writing like mine is the reason they invented Twitter. (That first post was pretty damn wordy. Let me know if you stuck with me all the way through; you go on the special Christmas card list.) I could sit here and tell you I don't care about comments, but I prefer to restrict my lying to stories about my sex life and the perfection of my child. Truth is, bloggers crave comments. Or at least I do. Comments are the social element that transforms the table for one into a cocktail party, the monologue into a conversation. Comments are the pat on the back that says, you know what, you don't suck. Stick with it.
So I do understand that irked blogger up there. But we both need to listen to Lore Sjöberg when he says, "Creating your own blog is about as easy as creating your own urine, and you're about as likely to find someone else interested in it." If you've taken time to show interest in me by reading, commenting, saying a supportive word in person or through e-mail, or even clicking the little like button~ thanks, I needed that.
And PS, If you're interested, my urine today was a beautiful sight, like clear spring water trickling from a mossy woodland hollow.
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.
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*The world being defined as: my mom, my sister, my husband and three loyal and obliging girlfriends.
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Posts
6 comments:
Susan, I LOVE to read your blog. I can't wait to turn on my computer and click the bright orange B in "my favorites". I think you are so clever and so hilarious. I am surprised you cannot hear me laughing aloud as I read. Blogging is definitely what you should be doing, you have a true talent.
Shelly, I hear you're single. Would you marry me?
xo
You don't suck. Stick with it. :)
I don't suck. Kat, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.
I'm a reader too!
You know I think you're wonderful, don't you?
You've certainly made ME quite famous in my own little world.
Keep it up. Actually though, I really don't give a darn about your urine. (Just hadda say something to make me crazy.)
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