I’ve been trying to write this blog post for the last three hours. Being honest, writing ranks lower than any other draw on my time – which probably explains the multiple failed attempts at NaNoWriMo over the years. It also explains the awful quality of blog posts unless I’m holed up in a hotel with work.
I read a post at lunchtime today by an old friend – about her attempts to “reset” her blog after selling out to advertisers and filtering her views to meet their demands. It struck a chord with me – although I tend to filter purely to avoid any come-back whatsoever from those that I know read everything I write, waiting for the chance to stick the knife in.
I’ll freely admit that I don’t put as much effort into writing online as I once did. It’s not my job, I earn nothing from it, and I have a ridiculously small readership that I fail to cultivate through a total and utter lack of effort. I just post my words, and wander off to get on with something else. Minimum effort. Going through the motions.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s really worth carrying on with the blog – almost everybody I know that once wrote a personal blog has stopped. I have very much become the unicorn of the group. Even looking around somewhere like Tumblr where diversity is supposed to shine, content creators are in a tiny minority, and male bloggers may as well be an endangered species.
Of course I will carry on, because I’m kind of an idiot. It would be a shame to stop anyway, having written pretty consistently for the last fifteen years.