Two bloggers friends have been screwing around with my head lately — Jane Devin and Dana Guthrie Martin. Both of them are what they used to call “writers.” They do not write screenplays where some guy’s penis gets caught in the trunk of a Toyota Prius. They write pieces they truly care about. They love language and ideas and that type of shit. They are passionate and honest in what they say.
I hate everything they stand for.
From now on, whenever I write an “emotional” post which bores you to death, I want you to blame these two bloggers for their negative influences. Remember when I used to be funny. How many of you are excited to see Woody Allen’s latest unfunny movie?
At one time, I wanted to be the next Dooce. Now, I’m deleting half of my followers from Twitter and Flickr. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m a Pisces. Astrology books say that I am a sensitive soul who can only deal with two or three close friends. It’s not that I don’t care. I actually DO care what type of sandwich you had for lunch.
How do you people read so many blog posts in one day? I read some tech blogger bragging about being able to read 100 posts daily in his Google Reader. Is he a robot? I read two or three decent posts, and I’m drained.
I understand that there is a social dynamic to blogging. Everyone wants to be loved and admired, but let’s be honest — most of us would be plain miserable being an A-list blogger. Yes, I think for the first time in my blogging career, I actually feel sympathy for Dooce. It must be hard to deal with 1000 commenters, and strangers thinking they “love” you. I never want to hear any ONE of you ever saying that you “love” me, unless, of course, we first have sex, then it is a given. You might like me. You might find my jokes mildly amusing. But EVEN I’m not sure I love myself! Love Dooce instead.
I sometimes find it difficult to deal with getting thirty comments a day. I mean I like the comments, but I also know that YOU are writers, too, and you deserve love and attention, so I feel like a jerk if I don’t immediately go to your blog and write a comment back. I know I sound like an asshole complaining when you’re a blogger who only getting two comments, but who’s to say that it is better to have thirty comments than two comments? Is it better to sleep around with strangers in bars every night or have one loving wife at home waiting for you? If I ran the blogosphere, I would limit comments to thirty maximum per post. That is enough to stroke any ego. OK, I’m going to be RADICAL here. If you see that I already have thirty comments, do everyone a favor and go put a comment on a blog with less comments. You can always send me an email or a message on Twitter later telling me that you liked the post. Or just send me a photo of your bra.
Do any really BIG bloggers read Citizen of the Month? I mean YOU Dooce, Pioneer Woman, Stephanie Klein, etc. (no, not you Bloggess… not yet)? Does anyone know them personally? I would love to talk to you — even interview you for this blog. I wouldn’t ask you about writing or your blog. I would be curious on how you deal emotionally with other bloggers? How difficult is it? Does it drain your energy? Why do you even continue when you could be writing in other venues? And most importantly… do any of us really want to follow in your footsteps? Or is that what success is all about — having to deal with a lot of strangers?
These are all selfish questions. Maybe I’m not emotionally fit to be an A-lister, even if my writing got to that level. I sort of like being the bohemian, spouting socialist slogans like “everyone is interesting” and not caring about anyone’s reaction when I inappropriately flirt with some hot mommyblogger.
“Oh, that’s just Neilochka! He’s harmless. He’s not an A-lister or anything like that.”
Of course, I would be bullshitting you if I said I didn’t care about success. It would be cool to make a great living through wriitng. It would be fun to give a keynote address at some blogging conference, the audience oohing and aahing to my every word. Of course, I would quickly run out afterwards so I wouldn’t have to talk to any of you.
And talk about opportunities for getting laid!
But then, sometimes, I think about going small with this blog… or starting all over again, like the first “real writer” I got to know online. I could then focus more on my writing than worrying about all this nonsense. But why in the world would I do that? If I wanted fewer readers, I could just do it the old-fashioned way — by publishing poetry!
Ha Ha. I can just see the faces of some of you. Oh no! He’s going to publish some poetry!
Luckily, I didn’t write it myself. Dana started something called the Poetry Collaborative. Under this system, two people write a poem together via email or IM. It’s more of an experiment than anything else, because we took turns writing lines. My victim/collaborator was the talented Christine Swint of Maria Cristina Poesia.
Here is our poem… wait, let me give some of you the chance to click over to a better blog… OK, for those left behind —
when clouds cover the moon
by Neil and Christine
My hands are orchids,
but in anger they provoke
violet bruises. Livid
birds screech in a dovecote,
wings beating against bamboo.
Their black judgment must abide,
suspended in time, like an ant in amber
or Papa when he’s high–
his gnarled hands turn a crank
that voice! that voice! it’s mine–
not a magpie’s, nor a mountebank’s,
piercing the nighttime.
I wish for whispers, willows,
a sunrise tomorrow.