A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.
Maybe that's my problem. Have I grown too comfortable with myself?
I have written an essay in this journal everyday since 2004, except for the six weeks I spent with the phone against my ear listening to scratchy disco music followed by silly instructions from even sillier tech support people, crawling around on the floor unplugging and re plugging Ethernet cables in a vain attempt to get back on the Internet. When it was finally determined that the problem was with the computer itself some kind people got together and got me a new one so I could keep on supplying the great googleland with my thoughts and words.
What's happened? I genuinely love and appreciate the few who still read my rambling reads. But I have lost so many readers over the past year that I feel I must be doing something wrong. It can't just be "Let 'em eat facebook." I've tried pinging my entries. I've tried registering with this and that. But when I end a day with one comment and only 7 hits on the entry, as happened the other day, when I used to get between 35 and 50, I know something is wrong.
An independent publisher likes my entry of the 17th well enough to republish it. Where is everybody else? Have I become too maudlin, inane, humorless, uninteresting or sophomoric? Whats a mattah ya don like my pitchah?
Ah, I know what you're saying "He's whining again." No I'm not, I'm asking. What do people want to read? I don't have a garden to weed or a lawn to mow. I have no grandchildren to brag about or pets to take cute pictures of. I don't want to write about my physical condition, that got me into trouble before. Have mercy on me. I am bereft. Left with nothing but my imagination and 7 decades of life experience. I will write what people want to read, whatever it is.
I don't know how to specialize. I don't have enough recipes, I'm not interested in sports and there are only so many theatre stories I can tell before I bore myself into oblivion. So what do I do? Puzzles?
Cryptograms are hard work and no one does them except Bill, who rips them off before his first cup of coffee. Otherwise my puzzles and seasonal questions have become some of the most unpopular things on the web.
I really, truly am searching for a whole new approach to my writing because I enjoy writing and I enjoy writing to people.
I read through all the blogs on my blog list today and on some of them I left the 15th, 30th or 80th comment. At 11:25 p.m. on my blog I have 11 visits and 2 comments. See what I mean? I am grateful; for those comments. I am. Thank you Rose. Thank you Ma.
Maybe I'll do what some people do, knock off for a while, forget about it, spend the rest of the year just painting pictures and writing stories. Change my name and start a new journal about something as yet unknown.
DB - The Vagabond