Failing At Blogging
That’s what the tweet said. Mimicking one of those desperate 900 numbers from the 90’s that wanted to teach me TV VCR repair. “But I’m just a chubby child? What am I going to do with the knowledge to fix a VCR?” Looking back now, I could have made some major coin with that knowledge. Not only would I have been savvy enough to program VCR’s and repair them during their heyday, I could have been the Dr. Frankenstein resurrectionist that hipsters come to for the absolute worst in home video entertainment.
I kept an open mind this time and didn’t shoot it down immediately. Am I failing? Well, by this guy’s definition, yes. How could a single person not be failing when he is comparing them to Huffington Post and Mashable. Is your blog missing the financial backing of a publicly traded company? Do you have less than twenty full time writers, editors and contributors?
The site looked like what a Smart Car would look like all tarted up like a Nascar. Stickers, bumpers, creepers and bleepers were everywhere. My first reaction was to have a seizure. However, before my eyes could roll back in my head and my mouth began to froth, a popup, er, popped up. Perhaps popup isn’t the proper name, as it covered the entire screen and descended from the top of the site, like someone drawing a blind to cover up some hideously bright scene.*
My faculties came back to me. The clickers started clickin’ and the peepers started peepin’. That’s when I realized the shade was wanting my information. My digital digits. I wasn’t in the mood. Hell, I didn’t even know why I would want to come back to this site. Ever! So I clicked the X in the corner. And the nuclear Nascar sensibilities came back into view. I was ready this time though. Steeled like some ancient armored sentinel with an evil looking blade and a worse attitude.
Yet, as quickly as the site appeared, it was grayed out again. As a different popup, well, popped up. This one was the more standard rectangular affair that wanted my email address. At this juncture, I still had no idea whether or not I liked this site. Scratch that, I knew I didn’t like the site, but perhaps I needed the site. Maybe it had an untold trove of information that would turn me into a trend maker. Visions of putting an ad on Craigslist for an unpaid intern, as I read on for the life changing information it contained.
It didn’t! It told writers to write and artists to art. In summary, keep blogging. Post whatever it is that you do. Link it to your other sites and creations. I saw the flailing magician, trying so desperately to get his trick to work. I heard a drumset falling down the stairs, the cymbals rolling at the end. For all the glitz of the site, it seemed lackluster. Like something anyone could have cooked up. A Captain Obvious for obvious times. Yet, there he was with a zillion followers and shares. Who knows if any of them are repeats or if they are the poor souls who don’t know about the X buttons and sign up for something every time a popup, phew, pops up. Heck, maybe he bought them.
When, why, did blogging turn into this? Sure, it’s great to gain followers and have readers, but this was such an overt desperate plea for attention and numbers. It was making a scene, dropping down to its knees, made huffing puffing sounds as it tried to work up some tears. “I love you so much, stay with me forever, follow me.” It’s like going to the bar and someone sneaks up behind you and demands your phone number before you can even turn around or talk to them. That’s some power tripping creepazoid Fifty Shades of Grey shit right there. That being said, I’m going to turn on all the wingdings and doo-dads my blog can muster.
The love child of a Sally Struthers quote and this post: “Failing at blogging? Sure, we all are!”
*Something that happens all the time in Las Vegas.