When I started bogging a year ago it was simply to promote my short film, then appearing at the AAIFF 2005 Festival. I hated the idea of blogging. The word ‘blog’ sounded funny and uptight to me. Something ‘artiste’ types or unpublished writers would do to show off their vocabulary or tell the world what they’ll never find at a local Barnes & Noble. A year later, here I am…blogging.
Nothing has changed. I’m still the same prick I was a year ago, judging others and their achievements or a lack thereof. But this time it’s different. I’m almost one of the others. Two days ago I was ecstatic to learn a random post on Line Rider scored a whopping 245 hits in a day. I averaged 15-20, if I was lucky, on this blog. Now, for a lot of you 245 is chump change, used toilet paper in someone else’s bathroom lying on top of last week’s National Enquirer. It’s insignificant, to say the least. But for me it meant a mixture of delight and sadness. Sadness because the post had nothing to do with me or my blog or my toughts on my blog. Line Rider would have gotten hits any-fuckin-where.
Of course, the next day you think twice about posting a new entry. Line Rider 3? I looked. Nothing. Another update on the overseas free phone call number? I was typing before I finished the thought. I felt like a loser after publishing that. Line Rider and Future Phone – is that all I’ve got? Naturally your doubts that you’d just put to bed two nights ago appear sitting next to you – smoking their stogies and laughing it up with their big yellow teeth. I could almost dig a tent with those fucking things.
In times like these I did what a lot of you might have done as well. Seek the truth. Is blogging for me? The Good Lord has excellent timing. HE brought in my inbox a newsletter from Darren – The Pro Blogger. Bloggers – you know him. I’ve read his posts when I started blogging again three months ago. How he’d started out and how it had taken him a while to get a grip on the blogging thing – I’d read that stuff already. But this time it felt different, reading them. I was reminded not to fall in love with the other woman – results, but cherish the one you’ve enjoyed being with – process. Part of me did think, “Yes, I will make millions out of this,” but part of me finds excitement in knowing you visit my blog to listen to what I have to say, you agree/disagree with me, you feel sorry for me at times, and at times leave the pages to never come back. But you come back, because you know I am not perfect, you know I am learning, and you know you can say a thing or two that can snap me out of my foolish insecurities. We all have them. We all know we all have them. We all know everyone has them.
While surfing the channels this past Sunday I stopped for a moment to watch a famous motivational speaker on a Public channel. He is speaking about being positive and some such. He talked about overpowering his kid’s giant arms – the kid is apparently ginormous- with two fingers because he was holding a negative energy in his other hand – a rap CD. It was such a beautiful moment for me because of what came out of my mouth FUCK YOU!!!! The bastard thinks he has it all figured out, just like that other fake shrink motherfucker on the network show. I had to flip out that station. But you know what positive thing came about from this? I felt a lot better from letting out that four lettered fuck word. I guess his show works.
Getting back to Darren’s blog. The guy doesn’t claim to be any big genius on blogging nor did he have answers to some of my bigger questions in life – about blogging. But his articles made me feel a lot better. He simply said, and I paraphrase by summarizing here, “I didn’t know much of what I was doing when I started out, not even how to make a text bold. But I got the hang of it eventually, by blogging.” Fucking awesome. Just what I needed. Simplify, simplify, simplify. Make blogs personal. Personal in a communal kind of way, I gathered. Makes so much sense. I don’t have to compete. I have to be myself and keep myself at it. What’s the rush? Global warming won’t kill us for another 15 years, so I have time to make all the money I never will have time to enjoy or, as my brother puts it, put an air conditioner in my grave.
That’s all I have to say to you, you beautiful person reading this line. You are beautiful because my pseudo-inner turmoil amuses you -and I don’t care. I ony care that I am able to be me who cares about who I love to call beautiful – and still care.
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