Everyday, I am exposed to countless blogs– countless, mostly because I have the math skills of a parrot on hashish and give up after double digits– and I can’t help but think the same thing after finishing most of them: Wow… I really must be a social slug. Each day I read blogs ranging everywhere from writing tips to satire, and every metro-stop in between, and I am impressed with how the bloggers seem to have their shit together. They have a point. They have focus. They can churn out at least one blog a week! They understand their audience and their niche. Me? I have no niche. I am niche-free (not to be confused with niece-free because, last I counted, I was standing at fourteen nieces)…. and I am, apparently, in quite the deficit of wit, if we are being completely honest.
I’ve had friends tell me I should write comedy. Apparently, they are so starved for laughter in their lives that they will accept anything.
Going back to the point, which is becoming fuzzier to me the longer I ramble on, I started this blog for one reason: The naive hope that blogging will make me seem personable and gain me a readership. Because some other blog I read, somewhere in the web-verse, told me I had to if I ever wanted any hope of selling a book. Because they read on some other blog that it was imperative (oooh, big word for being 1/3 of a six-pack in!) to manipulate the social media era to their benefit. Some publishers/agents even push the platform so heavily onto prospective authors that they end up relying way too much on Facebook and Twitter to sell the books that their publishers should be pimping out for them (But that is a whole other topic to rant about). Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against using these outlets to “remind” people that, Hey! There’s this little thing I accomplished a while back. You should take a look when you get a chance! but when the only thing I am seeing on your timeline, or twitter feed, is the cover, price, and synopsis of your book then you’ve lost me as quickly as those car dealership commercials; COME ON DOWN NOW! NOW, NOW, NOW! YOU’LL NEVER SEE PRICES THIS LOW EVER, EVER, EVER AGAIN! COME IN NOW AND GET A FREE HOT PICKLE! JUST MENTION CRAZY PICKLE DAN!! I also realize that, if you are delving into self-publishing, that the social media platforms ARE important because you DON’T have a publisher or marketer working for you. I don’t intend to tear down those that use it properly.
Excuse me while I try to remember my point, I know I had one when I started…
Ah, right. Social Slug.
See, the problem with me blogging is that I have yet to find this “niche” they speak of. I started this blog as an attempt to relate with others while I begin my journey from some Gen-X unknown housewife to a (hopefully) well-known author. Whether I will ever be “well-known” still remains to be seen as I have a looooooong while to go, yet. I’ve never blogged before this. I’ve never felt the need to expose my inner-most thoughts and workings to a group of complete strangers. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to be doing by writing my books? No? Well, shit. Now what?
I have no idea what to do with this blog. There’s the honest-to-all-that’s-holy truth.
Writing comes easy to me because I am not talking to anyone in particular. It’s just me and a screen. No pressure to get the words right because there is always that deliciously naughty delete button. I’ve pounded that thing harder than a double-jointed hooker on Shore Leave and it’s never judged me for it. When you blog, you really can’t delete your thoughts. I mean, I guess you can… but it’s different isn’t it? It becomes disingenuous. When you blog, I feel like you are putting your real self out there more than when you are writing a work of fiction. If you aren’t being the real you, for your readership to “relate to”, then you’re really just being a big fat phony.
I don’t want to be a phony. I also don’t want to let people see the real me.
The real me getting judged hurts a lot more than the fiction created in my head does. You can one-star my books all day, sure it stings– I’d be lying if I said it didn’t– but I can always write better. I can always revise and rewrite. Me is me. My personality, that’s taken 30 years to develop and it’s here to stay. Sure, people can always better themselves, but I like the person I’ve become; I’m not cruel, or unkind (though I have been known to rock a pair of sassy-pants once in a while). I love, I see beauty in things, and I have inherited a corny sense of humor from my father… these are not things I feel need
fixing. Not in any way shape or form. That doesn’t make it hurt any less when people tear down what makes me me. Who wouldn’t be hurt? At the same time, I know I can’t genuinely relate to any of my potential readers if I pretend to be someone I’m not; someone cool, smooth, and witty.
Lord knows I have as much wit as a cucumber.
The point, I think, dear readers, is that I have not one bloody clue what I am doing here. I just want to write. I want to write and I would be ecstatic if that writing pulled in others that happened to actually enjoy it. That would be a dream. I don’t believe that everything is riding on a blog that no one will remember weeks from now. Of course, I could be wrong. This rambling blog could be the end of my future career for all I know. But at least I’m not being phony. I guess I’ll let the books do the talking, where that is concerned. I’m almost 80% positive they’ll be more interesting to read.