Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Why I do it
Because it feels good?
No. Too simple, and if I stopped there I would have this big fat black-and-white photo and several column inches of open space (what is that called, anyway? A gravestone?)
The generic question is, Why do we blog? Today, Blue Gal wades into a mud pit created by Chris Bowers’ recent comments that the days of the solo pundit blogger are over. (Nyah! Take that, Glenn Greenwald!) BG skewers Bowers’ puffery with typical panache:
“There are artists, there are artists who somehow make a living doing their art (sorry, I can’t imagine John Amato writing that “Chris Bowers knows blog success!” business model bullshit), and there are sell-out wankers who want to color themselves important by channeling some Tony Robbins success seminar. I’m too busy doing my thang, and enjoying the writing and work of some very gifted individual bloggers, to worry about which category the big boys fall into.”
I’m not a big boy. I’ll never be a big boy. Whenever my hit counter makes me a wee bit feverish, I check my referrals to remind myself that 95% of my hits comes from guys searching for a semi-nude Christina Aguilera, cameltoes, or butt cracks. But as I hope you all know, I’m not blogging for those folks.
I blog for the 5% who come ’round on a regular basis to see what’s on my mind. Like Blue Gal, I’m too busy doing my thang to care about absolute numbers; I’m far more interested in the dialog I generate on a daily basis. If I can get ten or twenty of you to share your stories with me, I’m a happy man.
Many of the common reasons for blogging apply to me, too. It keeps my mind sharp; it allows me to meet like-minded individuals and form friendships I otherwise wouldn’t make; it helps me network with other writers. Also, if I ever publish a novel, I hope I can count on many of you to read it, shout me out, and generally kick up a fuss (assuming the novel deserves it).
But if that were the whole story, it wouldn’t explain my obsessive addiction to blogging. And it wouldn’t explain why nearly all of you are women.
A long time ago, I wrote about the “wonder of me” period in a relationship — that early interval when the guy trots out all his best material. I touched on the end of that period:
One day, you realize you’ve run out of shtick. You have no more stories to tell, and before long you find yourself breaking up lengthy silent pauses at restaurants with, “Isn’t it nice that we can just be together and not have to say anything to one another?” And she says, “Yes, it really is,” but you know she’s thinking, Christ, what happened to him?
That’s when you start making shit up. That is the birth of fiction.
Well folks, I’m here to tell you, we’re still dating, and I haven’t run out of shtick yet.
I think I understood then only too well why I blog. This is an infinitely protracted courtship, a love affair which will never be consummated. I suspect I’m trying to forever remain in the excitement phase of our relationship. Will he? Won’t he? Will the earth move, or will he leave cracker crumbs in bed like the last asshole?
Deep down, I think I’m still that teensy first grader who drove his teacher crazy by insisting on being the center of attention every minute of every day.
Why do I blog? Cuz I want the love*.
Photo from the Western History/Genealogy Department, Denver Public Library.
D.
*My male readers: you too. We’re talking platonic relationships, after all.
Whaaaaat? Nearly all of us readers here are woman? Really? Walnut, are you really just “one of the girls?” LOL. I know. That quote was SO below the belt.
hm. i do it so i wont forget. and so that people who dont get to see me can know what’s going on with me. and for opinions. and for love. and cuz you told me to…
CD, I’m rather proud of that quote. It may have been below the belt once upon a time, but now it’s a badge of honor.
Shaina, you’ll do anything I ask you to?
not a chance. i still havent done anything with that thing you sent me. its too bad my roomie accidentally killed her bunny, cuz i thought a pic of the bunny in the giant condom would be hilarious. but other than that, i have no idea.
I do it because I don’t want to be a completely anonymous drain on the planet’s resources. ‘Cuz sometimes I feel that way in real life.
I blog to escape from TellyTubbies, Muffia Politics and gym sweat addictions. Also, I don’t have many friends IRL (such hard work they expect cards and flowers and all that societal niceties that I’m just too busy to bother with – if I forget your birthday you shouldn’t cry about it, but there you go. It’s why I like men for friends better anyways.) who I can vent with so I just spew my concerns to the populace at large. I do it because I can. And regardless of what google says, I’ve not made one cent on those stupid google ads so they’re gone. When I get around to it.
I get the most hits on an image of Alfalfa I posted. I don’t know why, but I mean at least 10 a day from all over the world.
Awwww…. ***smooches***, Doug.
Hmmm. It fills a niche. My family’s sick of hearing about every fricking book I read; I feel awkward about hijacking BB & email list threads talking about what I’ve read, so it goes on my blog. The other stuff is just fun to do, and the blog is somewhere to put it.
It’s mostly just for me, and if a handful of people read it, that’s cool.
I blog to avoid work. I do everything to avoid work.
I blog because I spend so much time alone that I talk to myself anyway. Might as well do it online.
Amd I blog because someone said it would sell books.
I frequently think about dumping the blog and using the time to go read everyone else’s blog and leave the long rambling notes in their comments that I would otherwise stick on the front page of my own place.
Making comments is fun. Getting comments is even better than coffee, which I desperately need at the moment. Comments are the best part of the whole blogging thing. Even the weirdo ones.
I would guess that the reasons for blogging are about as varied as the reasons for writing.
Why do I blog? Because I enjoy it. I’ve always liked the measured thought that writing requires, and blogging is a way to do it in a semi-productive way.
There are different styles, too. There’s the many-posts-per-day style, 3 or 5 or 10 short bits. There’s the one-per-day. There’s the one-per-month, like irritable bowel, a backup and then a big spew.
Then there’s the inconsistent bloggers, like me. Maybe one per day, sometimes one every two days, sometimes three a day.
The meat and potato reason I blog is entirely too boring, so I won’t talk about.
But the nekkid side dishes sure are fun! Plus, it’s more masturbatory than actual masturbation.
Heh. Thanks, you guys. Erin, I agree about the wanking side of blogging. Dean, I’m still smiling about the IBS blogger. And Kate, don’t you dare stop.
I started off blogging so that I wouldn’t annoy my friends and relations by telling them all about the book I just read.
But then I started using it as an “info dump” of all of the frustrations and petty jealousies which come up during my term in politics. I cannot adequately express how important blogging about those bizarre infights is to my remaining a sane and effective Board member. Because if I didn’t spew that junk somewhere, it would poison my relationships.
I’ve mostly been linked to by people interested in my horsie posts.
And I get the most hits per day from searches for autocunnilingus. At least 2 a day. Mostly from Denmark and Germany. Thanks, Doug. 😉
And, like Kate, I blog because I’m bored, and alone for a good part of the day, and as a means to procrastinate. Yeah. What she said.
I blog because you can’t be the only one.
You’ve GOT the love, honey.