Struggling

I have been quietly struggling with “blogging” for months, and resisting the temptation to write about about it, because who wants to read a blog post about blogging? Then I remind myself that I’m not here to write what others want to read – I’m here to empty my head, and if anybody at all finds it even remotely interesting, that’s a bonus.

Late yesterday evening I looked at all of the popular (and not so popular) blogging platforms – among them Blogger, Weebly, Wix, Squarespace, Postachio, Ghost, and more – eventually questioning why on earth I was doing it. I read through old posts where I had argued against the perceived “walled gardens”, and both agreed and disagreed with myself. I ended up laughing at my ability to sit on the fence of disagreements with myself.

There is a temptation to build my own little island in the internet, and invite people to come and find me. I think of it as the “fool on the hill” model. This flies in the face of the wannabe famous bloggers that pepper BlogLovin with inspirational photos of clothes they have bought, and food they were about to eat – each a marketing machine in their own right, plastering their grinning photogenic faces across Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, and Snapchat.

Sometimes I think playing the game might be fun – selling out to attract attention, rather than just carry on emptying my head. Then I reconsider, and figure there is value in being discovered by chance, rather than by force. I’m sure internet marketing morons would disagree with me. There’s also the whole love/hate thing with attention. Sure, it’s nice when somebody reads something you have written and comments on it, but then there’s the whole problem of WHO is reading your words. I’m quite happy with strangers reading, but not so happy with co-workers, friends, family, or real world acquaintances digging through every damn post I’ve ever written. It’s worth noting that I know some of them already have.

I’ve written about all this rubbish before. I won’t change. I never change. I’ll still be here, recording thoughts, and daily adventures in another ten years time. I’ll still be wondering if it’s a good idea, and wondering where everybody I used to read has gone. I’ll occasionally complain about this or that, but I’ll carry on, because I’m a bit stupid like that.

 

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