I’ve struggled with being a blogger (the label applied to me) who is blogging (the thing I do) on her blog (the place I do that thing I do) ever since I started I Will Dare in 2000. You’ll have to take my word for this because the earliest complaint I can find is in 2006. That’s probably because I was in denial for six years that I was actually a blogger who blogged on her blog.

At first I detested the label because I never dreamed a “serious” writer would lower themselves to blogging. I wanted to be a serious writer and not a blogger. Blogging was the domain of heartsick college students who spent all their time gazing at their own navels. Then as blogging gained more and more acceptance, I hated the label a little less. Though I would always say it with a little bit of contempt. It is, like I said, an awful word.

There was a brief time, probably around the time I was working full time at The Nerdery where I was all “hell yes, I am blogger hear me roar.” But the more time I spent reading marketing blogs and advertising blogs and design blogs my roar turned into a whisper.

Blogging has evolved into a marketing/SEO/SEM/branding strategy. Which is fine. I get why blogging is smart for businesses and brands and people who are looking to brand themselves. But that’s not me. That’s not what I Will Dare is about or why I created it.

A few weeks ago I was the Geek Girls Guide Geek of the Week and we very briefly touched on the topic of authenticity (when I wasn’t giggling about Skittles and Pinky Tuscadero). Meghan had asked me how I felt about authenticity and transparency being that I make a living writing posts for other people.

What I didn’t say, and should have said, is that while readers crave this transparency and authenticity the most apparent thing, the one thing that’s never talked about, is that most blogs want you to part with your cash. Yes, the musician’s blog, the author’s blog, that company you really admire — all those blogs want you to spend money on their stuff. Which, again, is fine. I am not trying to deny anyone their money or marketing or advertising.

Really, the onus is on the readers of those very fine blogs to remember that. Most people aren’t blogging because they want to, or because they love it. They blog to make a buck, and it’s probably the one thing they aren’t very transparent about.

And I think that’s what the term blogger has evolved into, someone who writes stuff in the hope of getting your attention and casually deflecting that attention onto stuff that you can buy from them.

I’m not doing that here on I Will Dare. I’m not here to be a thought leader, or to brand myself as a social media wonk/marketing master, or to get you to buy my widgets/books*/music. I’m here because I’m a narcissitic storyteller who wants to practice her craft in some way, shape, or form.

And there ought to be a cool, made-up word for that. You know, besides writer.

* DISCLAIMER: If I ever publish a book, I will change this tune so fast your head won’t just spin, the centrifugal force of that spinning will cause your brains to fly out your nose. In fact, I will pimp my goods so hard you will be all what the what what? I thought she was the high and mighty moralist who wasn’t selling stuff. Then you will go search my archives to find this post so you can hoist me on my own petard only you will never find it because it will have disappeared and I will deny it ever existed. Why? Because I am the all powerful benevolent ruler of I Will Dare.

P.S. This rant was brought to you by Bloggers quitting what they call a demanding task with few rewards, an article (and the accompanying comments by PR vultures and SEO sorcerers) that induced so much gagging and eye-rolling while I read it that I think I pulled a muscle in my eyelid.

P.P.S Nabisco, I’d still totally sell out for a Nutter Butter sponsorship. Just imagine it: 1 part mean red + 1 part don’t give a damn + 1 part delcious Nuttery Buttery goodness. Call me!

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And you’re all, what? That’s totally true.

From the comic book series “Fables” another improper use

However true it might be, it’s still logically unsound. I have provided no actual support for the annoying pedant portion of my statement. Because she’s so irritating assumes that the annoying pedant part is true, without any proof, therefore begging the question!

But I am an annoying pedant because improper use of begs the question drives me right up the wall. In fact, it drives me so batty that it has overtaken the overuse of douche to claim the #1 spot of weird linguistic things that annoy me.

The worst part? People are using it wrong all the time, everywhere. Brian Williams used it incorrectly on election night, and yesterday the adorable actor who plays Sheldon on “Big Bang Theory” used it incorrectly on Ellen (and essentially broke my heart in the process).

I don’t know if begs the question has just gotten more popular or if I have some sort of superpower bat-radar hearing that seems to catch its use no matter where it occurs. It’s one of those things that once you start noticing, you can’t stop it. It’s like when you see dead people and all of a sudden you’re saying, “I see dead people. They’re everywhere.”

Why does this drive me so crazy? There are two reasons.

First, people have no idea it actually means something that is not “raises the question.” They think they’re being clever or offering up some witty turn of phrase. It’s not that the language has evolved and the phrase has moved past its original meaning, it’s that people are dumb.

Second, I learned what begging the question was the hard way. You have to harken back to the long ago 90s in a cold, dank lecture hall on the UWEC campus. There, a young nerd, sat in the upper left corner in Logic 101 (or one-oh something, I can’t remember what) and tried with every brain cell she had to learn logic.

I’m not exactly sure what possessed me to take Logic. It was, after all, my very first semester in college, so I’m sure my options were limited. I liked the idea of taking a philosophy class and having no idea what philosophical logic was all about I signed right up.

Some part of me probably thought I’d learn to be logical, to have more common sense. In all of my eighteen years up to that point i had often been shamed for my lack of common sense.

Sure I once asked my mom after pondering a sign at the laundromat why she didn’t use the machines that offered to wash, fluff-dry, and fold your clothes for only 65 cents a pound. Sure, I was seventeen at the time, but come on, I’d seen the Jetsons. And I asked my dad if olives were invented in a lab using chemicals, but that’s probably not far from the truth.

But to my family it meant I lacked common sense.

Somewhere in my common nonsense head I decided Logic would give me sense. It did not give me any common sense. However it did teach me a lot about arguments; if/then/therefore statements; Venn diagrams, how my philosophy professor used logic to argue his way out of a parking ticket (which had something to do with the ridiculousness of having motorcycle only parking in Wisconsin in February); and what the hell it means to beg the question.

So I beg you (and not the question), just stop using it. You can still ask questions, raise questions, even bring up some questions, just don’t beg them. Okay?

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What kind of craziness is this?

I thought maybe I’d ease into the world of comment-maker by leaving them on sites I’ve been reading by people I know (or sort of know, or might know). I still can’t do it.

It’s weird and I think it gets to the crux of my shyness. Here’s my theory: I don’t care what you think of me when I’m on my turf. However, on your turf I’m scared as hell of looking like a doofus. I’m not sure why it is that I care, but that’s the only thing I can think of that causes such paralyzing fear.

What’s even more irrational is I know, I know, I know that bloggers are thrilled with getting comments — especially if they are anything other than “UR an dummyass” — and yet I am commentless.

Holy crap it’s lame. So I ask you, darling commenters, what is that allows you to make the leap from silent reader to super-awesome commenter? Should I eat more spinach or something?

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or maybe it’s just the we’re finally on the same side of the war that we call work.

it’s pretty interesting.

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