The post after your 10th anniversary post is intimidating. What do you write about?
Part of me wants to gather people around my rocker and tell stories of the blogging days of yore. Back when if you wanted to comment on something someone had posted, you wrote about it on your own blog and linked to what you were commenting on.
I want to tell the young’uns how back in my day, when I first started blogging by working my sums on a wooden shovel next to the fire, blogging was the lowest form of writing there was. Journalists, authors, most everyone who knew what a blog was thought it sucked. Any jackass could get a blog, well, once blogspot and livejournal came along. “Real” writers would never lower themselves to a blog.
Now you have to have a blog to build your brand to find your audience to social your media to monetize your content.
Bleh. I cannot deny that it’s a little annoying. If I could surpress the “I told you so” know-it-all in me, I’d be a much better person.
I’ve always credited my longevity to the fact that I never considered myself a blogger. I’m a writer and writers write. Blogging (and there is a subtle difference I don’t have the words to define) is different and as someone who does it for a living, I can see how people burn out on it. But writing? Writing is completely different. It comes from a different place and will be the reason I Will Dare will be here in 2020 (you know as long as I’m still kicking). I hope you’re still reading.
I feel much better now that this one is in the books. Tomorrow I will tell you about my necrocrush on David Foster Wallace and how he put into words why I’m struggling with my short short fiction class.