Dear Blogosphere (Specifically my faithful readers who come back time and time again),
I haven't been totally honest with you, and you probably know that. I'm guessing you noticed that I'm 13 blog posts behind my once-a-day goal. I'm just three months shy to my one year mark of blogging once a day, and I've been slacking. My writing muscles have been getting flabby the past two weeks. I don't expect you to excuse or dismiss my behavior, because I was wrong. I haven't been keeping up the bargain I made when I started this challenge. But I do hope you'll forgive me, especially as I recommit and start anew. And I promise to write daily, as well as make up 13 posts for those 13 lost days.
I also want to explain a little bit.
I would never have guessed the explosive response of my blog when I first started publishing daily. I started this little writing gig for myself, and I didn't anticipate I'd have too many followers. However, each blog post for the first three months had at least 100 views, if not more. Some posts, such as my Working Mom entry, reached 600+ views. I was astounded. How could that many people be interested in my anecdotes? At first, I wrote only for myself. It was exhilarating. But the "smash hits" I felt I was writing... well, I hate to say it, but it got to me. I was hooked on the popularity. I loved the attention and often checked blogger to see the number of eyes who read my words.
In the last three months my views have plummeted. Some posts have 5 views, some have 30. I don't know what sparked that. Perhaps it was because I wasn't posting a link on FB to my blog daily like I used to (I'm trying to cut back on social media). Perhaps what I wrote about offended people. Perhaps, most terrifying to my ego, my writing lost its appeal and magic.
Whatever the reason, the fear was real. I started to fear a little bit that what I wrote was boring, unimportant, laughable. Also, the first negative feedback I've ever received on my blog popped up a few weeks back (I know, I'm lucky to have made it this far without any snide comments, and I feel blessed... but the unkindness still shook me a little). I think part of me didn't give in to the visions of the world and the pride of popularity. But some of me did give in... too much of me did.
So I stopped with committal for a wee bit. I didn't feel the fire and joy of writing every day like I did before. I stopped caring about the thoughts that were scrambling and stacking up inside my head, and sadly, even after only 13 days, some of them have withered and wisped away.
But the last few days I've been reflecting and remembering. I didn't start this blog for it to be read by anybody in particular, to be honest. Except maybe my good husband, who is more loyal and supportive than any. I started this blog for me. I started this challenge because I LOVE TO WRITE, and I felt that I was depraving myself of BEING myself by not writing every day. I kept telling my students every day the importance of reading and writing daily, but I was only half living that. So I cleaned up my act and got to typing. Poetry. Prose. Recipes. Anecdotes. Captions. I felt like me again, like the me that wrote a four-page-long essay about Washington, George in 2nd grade. Like the me that kept a journal in a little black book before I even knew all my letters. Like the me that would compose my mission emails all week in my mind before I clacked them out on a half-functioning Argentine cybercafe keyboard on Mondays and sent them homeward. Like the me that kept dozens of journals throughout my teenage years and writer's notebooks besides. And that's what this blog is about. It's about being me.
To those of you that love my words and comment freely and kindly, I appreciate you. To those that hate, I tell you what, you certainly have the freedom of speech and I won't deny you that. And you're children of God, so you're worthy of love no matter the mean things you say. To those that are my friends and family and personal connections and whom read because you love me and want to know my thoughts, I love you most of all.
But to be honest, selfishly, this blog isn't for you. I'm grateful you read, but these words, these are for me. They are my therapy. These posts, they are my way of realigning how I see this world into a picture I can hold onto in years to come. These words preserve my baby's grin, my husband's laughter, my kinfolk's traditions, humanity's kindnesses and failings, and my God's rich blessings.
So forgive my selfishness, and forgive my hesitations. But believe me this: I will not stop writing again until this year is through.
Affectionately,
Mikayla
I haven't been totally honest with you, and you probably know that. I'm guessing you noticed that I'm 13 blog posts behind my once-a-day goal. I'm just three months shy to my one year mark of blogging once a day, and I've been slacking. My writing muscles have been getting flabby the past two weeks. I don't expect you to excuse or dismiss my behavior, because I was wrong. I haven't been keeping up the bargain I made when I started this challenge. But I do hope you'll forgive me, especially as I recommit and start anew. And I promise to write daily, as well as make up 13 posts for those 13 lost days.
I also want to explain a little bit.
I would never have guessed the explosive response of my blog when I first started publishing daily. I started this little writing gig for myself, and I didn't anticipate I'd have too many followers. However, each blog post for the first three months had at least 100 views, if not more. Some posts, such as my Working Mom entry, reached 600+ views. I was astounded. How could that many people be interested in my anecdotes? At first, I wrote only for myself. It was exhilarating. But the "smash hits" I felt I was writing... well, I hate to say it, but it got to me. I was hooked on the popularity. I loved the attention and often checked blogger to see the number of eyes who read my words.
In the last three months my views have plummeted. Some posts have 5 views, some have 30. I don't know what sparked that. Perhaps it was because I wasn't posting a link on FB to my blog daily like I used to (I'm trying to cut back on social media). Perhaps what I wrote about offended people. Perhaps, most terrifying to my ego, my writing lost its appeal and magic.
Whatever the reason, the fear was real. I started to fear a little bit that what I wrote was boring, unimportant, laughable. Also, the first negative feedback I've ever received on my blog popped up a few weeks back (I know, I'm lucky to have made it this far without any snide comments, and I feel blessed... but the unkindness still shook me a little). I think part of me didn't give in to the visions of the world and the pride of popularity. But some of me did give in... too much of me did.
So I stopped with committal for a wee bit. I didn't feel the fire and joy of writing every day like I did before. I stopped caring about the thoughts that were scrambling and stacking up inside my head, and sadly, even after only 13 days, some of them have withered and wisped away.
But the last few days I've been reflecting and remembering. I didn't start this blog for it to be read by anybody in particular, to be honest. Except maybe my good husband, who is more loyal and supportive than any. I started this blog for me. I started this challenge because I LOVE TO WRITE, and I felt that I was depraving myself of BEING myself by not writing every day. I kept telling my students every day the importance of reading and writing daily, but I was only half living that. So I cleaned up my act and got to typing. Poetry. Prose. Recipes. Anecdotes. Captions. I felt like me again, like the me that wrote a four-page-long essay about Washington, George in 2nd grade. Like the me that kept a journal in a little black book before I even knew all my letters. Like the me that would compose my mission emails all week in my mind before I clacked them out on a half-functioning Argentine cybercafe keyboard on Mondays and sent them homeward. Like the me that kept dozens of journals throughout my teenage years and writer's notebooks besides. And that's what this blog is about. It's about being me.
To those of you that love my words and comment freely and kindly, I appreciate you. To those that hate, I tell you what, you certainly have the freedom of speech and I won't deny you that. And you're children of God, so you're worthy of love no matter the mean things you say. To those that are my friends and family and personal connections and whom read because you love me and want to know my thoughts, I love you most of all.
But to be honest, selfishly, this blog isn't for you. I'm grateful you read, but these words, these are for me. They are my therapy. These posts, they are my way of realigning how I see this world into a picture I can hold onto in years to come. These words preserve my baby's grin, my husband's laughter, my kinfolk's traditions, humanity's kindnesses and failings, and my God's rich blessings.
So forgive my selfishness, and forgive my hesitations. But believe me this: I will not stop writing again until this year is through.
Affectionately,
Mikayla
I know it can be hard when you count views on posts, trust me, I do it too. Write for yourself, Mik, not anybody else. (Plus, you'll always have me reading.😄)
ReplyDelete<3 Love that I can count on you to care about what I write. Love you <3
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