I wake early so I can experience the rare delicious stillness in my home.
Drink my coffee. Write down snatches of dream residue.
Work on a post. Write. Rewrite. Ponder. Then,
CHILD BREAKFAST MOMMY WHERE’S MY PROJECT DAMN NOW I’M LATE CAN I CALL YOU BACK GET YOUR SHOES ON I’LL EMAIL YOU THE FILE WORK PHONE CALLS EMAILS PARENTS STUDENTS RUN BUSINESS PICK UP CHILD DO HOMEWORK FUCK YOU COMMON CORE! KARATE HIP HOP HEBREW SCHOOL BABYSITTER EX HUSBAND TUTOR STUDENTS TUTOR STUDENTS TEACH CLASS TEACH CLASS TUTOR STUDENTS HOME CHILD HE TALKS: MINE CRAFT BLATHER BLATHER BLATHER SCHOOL RECESS AIDAN DID THIS BRENDAN DID THAN WHAT SHOULD I DO MOMMY? I DON’T KNOW, PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE? THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT, UM, GO TO THE TEACHER? TALK. ENGAGE. READ WITH HIM. GREEK MYTHOLOGY. SHOWER BEDTIME.WHAT WAS YOUR SAD TODAY? YOUR HAPPY TODAY? WERE YOU ANXIOUS TODAY? LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF GOOD NIGHT .
I write. Think. Rewrite. Hit “Publish.”
I believe that blogging, first and foremost, is writing. But perhaps I am wrong. Feel free to expostulate.
A specialized writing, to be sure. I have much to learn. But I see that the best bloggers, the ones I consider “Blogging Superstars,” are unique and compelling writers. They connect with the world around them. Their followers connect with one another. It’s a beautiful dance of thought and community and I want IN.
I’ll admit it. I want to be a Blogging Superstar someday.
But I am CONFUSED. Because lately, I see bloggers who are considered “Blogging Superstars” and to me, they are just “Fame Whores.”
Perhaps because I am embryonic in the word of blogging, I don’t understand the rules. But the person who inspired this blog, has given me advice to “write truthfully what you’re feeling,”
I know that successful blogging is hard work. At this moment, I am a dilettante.
To truly touch people; to inspire; to build an audience that communes not only with you but with each other- to create this beautiful world of thought and ideas and shared emotions and support- this is an undertaking of a very high magnitude.
Sacrifices are made. I am making them.
Even though I have to be up close and personal for my job, I’m a mess lately. I look down at my chipped, 3-week-old Lindsay Lohan mess of a manicure. My hair goes unwashed. Thank God I can rock a hat. I dress for work in the easiest thing possible – the clothes left slung on the chair the night before. Sniff the blouse pits. It’ll do.
My house is dirty -pfffft. A clean house is a sign of a wasted life.
My body grows softer each day I skip the gym. Yes, I SKIP THE GYM. You would have to perceive “gym as religion” to understand that I can actually SEE my muscles cannibalize as I write this.
I have hit “reset” where priorities are concerned, so I can get to know my fellow bloggers and feel their minds. To see the ORANGE LIGHT, so we connect.
Oh my God, I dig it. Let the wordplay begin.
I’m having BLOGASMS when you come in here and comment. It’s better than sex.
I know authentic Blogging Superstars when I encounter them. And most of them have an entire life to be lived outside of blogging. But they make it work.
And their love for the written word is plain and true. They are bloggers, yes, but they are WRITERS.
And some of them generously use their Superstardom as a platform to help others. What graciousness. What magnificence.
But what is this other thing? This Fame Whore?
I can smell them at fifty paces. I just can. It’s a “Project Girl goes to High Fallutin’ College” thing. I have a sense of smell like a Doberman.
Fame Whores are aspiring Superstars. They blog in earnest; write well; answer all comments; read and provide thoughtful commentary on other blogs.
But there is a frenzied desperation in their actions. And I can see how badly they want not to be a Blogging Superstar, but a STAR. It debases the process.
He/She knows no life outside of blogging. How do I know this? Because I DO. Because wherever I go, he/she is there. He/she commented on 483,000 blogs before ever launching his/her own, to ensure a following.
Such strategy. And I thought this was about writing.
He/she is at every blog I ever read. It has taken me a month to read the blogs he/she has read in 3 days. He/she works must be independently wealthy, have a sugar daddy/mommy, or an administrative day job, and gets to spend the better part of the day commenting commenting commenting commenting.
Goddamn my stupid educators job where I try to make a difference in people’s lives. Really gets in the way of my blogging.
He/She are tweets constantly. Non stop. Usually at carefully selected Blogging Superstars. Holy Shiz. I check out Twitter, and all he/she does is TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET.
Twitter groans under the weight of another of his/her ridiculous self-endorsing re-tweets.
And her/his writing, while good, sometimes excellent, not SPECTACULAR. Yet they are universally lauded. Such is the epic self hype of the Fame Whore.
Even the Blogging Superstars, whom I love and adore, are bamboozled. I am sad.
I am jealous. Because I want to be a Blogging Superstar.
But my life is not set up to be a Fame Whore. I don’t have the time to exploit the Internet mercilessly. And I’m not sure I want to go that route. Because tsunamis, while powerful, can cause destruction.
Destruction of what should be pure and good and true. WRITING. Which, as I started this post with, is what the foundation of blogging really is. Or not? I don’t know anymore.
James Altucher, a blogger whom I admire tremendously, believes if you want to be a really good writer, then write several hours every day. And read, 2-3 hours every day.
So, Fame Whore. Be still. Be quite. Enough with the tweeting. The rah-rah rah-ing. The bells and whistles.
Use some of that time to Read.
Reflect. Drink tea and look out your window. You already have a gazillion followers. Read some more. Observe. Sit in a cafe and just listen to snatches of conversation instead of the constant sound of your incessant social media self-promotion.
Unless this is all about trying to become a Professional Blogger.
Ohhh, I get it. You want to make a living, financially humble as it may be, off of blogging or writing. Of course. you do. We all do.
So that’s why you are everywhere. That’s why you tweet tumble Facebook Pinterest Instagram Snapchat Google+ Linkedin Flickr Deviantart Tagged LiveJournal till I want to
blind myself like Oedipus Wrecks Blogging.
That’s why you have hijacked all my friends who never were.
You feel you have to you strategize nauseatingly to make money off of blogging.
Well played, Fame Whore. You will, no doubt, have the career I never had, or never will.
It’s all about money. Even blogging, I suppose. Today, I am sad.
I’m ready to hear what other bloggers have to say. I can take it.