I'm pouting. Just can't help it.I spent all day writing, including work on a blog piece that I thought was quite catchy. Like a fool, I asked my 18-year old to read the piece and he concluded that I sounded like a very sick woman. And he didn't mean physically.
Just what I wanted to hear.
Most moms would have ignored the critique, rationalizing that a teenager is in no position to judge the quality or potential popularity of a blog post. But all it took was one snub to make me feel like a complete failure. So I deleted it. Click. Gone.
In truth, my son's was not the first snub. The editor of a local magazine, for which I'm a monthly columnist, rejected an earlier version last month. I was convinced she simply didn't get my particular form of humor. But it is her magazine, so I shrugged my shoulders and moved on to other projects. No hard feelings here. It happens.
Nevertheless, my mind kept returning to this particular piece. I was convinced it had merit. Thus, I retrieved it, revised it, and reviewed it with my son.
Two strikes and I declared myself out. No need to invite the pain of strike three.
As a writer, I have more than one voice. Maybe it would be better to hone just one of them, but my muse doesn't lead me in that direction. Often my pieces are inspired by what is happening in my life at any particular time. And that means I write about a range of topics. The tone of my pieces vary from sentimental to lightly humorous to sarcastic.
My husband is battling Stage IV cancer. My son is behaving like a careless college freshman. I deal daily with a roller coaster of an auto-immune disease that makes me feel twenty years past my real age. We face huge financial challenges despite meteoric careers and having done all the right planning for the past quarter of a century.
Yes, my writing might be a tad caustic right now.
I started a blog because I wanted a place to say or shout out whatever was on my mind. No editors, no obligations to advertisers, no accountability to anyone. After a 32 year career, the pressures and politics of which nearly killed me, AND the onslaught of health issues and associated chaos -- the blog was my forum for unfettered expression.
But this rebel soon learned that expression doesn't mean much if there is no one to hear the shout. Without readers, I'm talking to myself. And if I don't build a truly interactive online community, then my blog is merely a one way conversation. Who wants that?
Perhaps I finally understand the blogging phenomenon. It's not about blasting messages. It's about inspiring community dialogue.
Unfortunately, I have yet to master the techniques for reaching others interested in dialogue about my writing topics. And I may eventually learn that there are only a handful out there for whom my words inspire a response. After all, there are a whole lot of us out there blogging around the clock, hoping to be heard. Sort of like ham radio operators (are they still around?).
I'm just tickled that 17 people in RUSSIA have visited my blog site. RUSSIA!! That is very cool. I know about my Russian pals because my blog host site gives me statistics about views. I don't know who visits me, but I know what country they're from.
(Seasoned bloggers are rolling their eyeballs about now, because geography is a moot point in the virtual world. But they need to understand - I'm truly fascinated that my 17 Russian readers even found my humble blog. So quit snarking.)
Perhaps the Russians heard that I enjoy an occasional vodka. After all, a mellow cocktail knows no geopolitical boundaries. And my new pals may also face health challenges, or deal with really annoying teenagers. Just like me.
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