Back in my day, it wasn’t this easy. You couldn’t just burst onto the scene with clever wit, pop culture catchphrases and a tendency to abuse alcohol kick back and wait for the followers to come knocking on your door. No sir/ma’am/transgendered-alternative…
Back in the the ole 2007, you had to be unemployed, living in a shoebox apartment above a herd of trollish women, spending so much time trying to housebreak a puppy that you actually forget to do your own business and get constipated but never blog about it ’cause that would be sort of weird so instead you just binge on Activia while channeling your inner Jamie Lee Curtis but you can’t because she’s manlier than you are.
Once you had that under control, you’d have to keep blogging for a solid year as one reader turns into four readers, four readers turn into eight readers, and eight readers turns back into two readers because you blog a touch too openly about your dog falling down the stairs and deserving it.
Whatever. He DID deserve it.
Then somewhere in year number two of blogging, month number six of eating Ruffles and watching Queer as Folk boxsets professionally, a little Lovely someone might notice you. And she might tell you to join an age-appropriate blogging network of some kind. And then that network might feature you and pump you so full of praise that you’re convinced a book deal is just around the corner along with fame, fortune and nameless hookers that serve their purpose just fine but leave you feeling a tiny bit guilty ’cause they seem to have some daddy issues.
But time goes on and literary agents don’t come a knockin’ as quickly as you had hoped. Probably because you routinely butcher the English language with run-on sentences simply because you can. You tend to find comfort though in the fact that you’ve met so many amazing people and are blessed/cursed with the hilarity of their daily emails and comments that turn you into that weird guy whose stories all start with, “This friend of mine? Well…actually it’s a stranger from the internet…but just listen!”
And even if they don’t? You’re grandfathered in, baby. You can lose all your talent completely and still play the comeback card every single year as you inflict your same old trash on a whole new generation of readers because your soul withers away when you’re not being worshipped. How will I know…if [they] really loves me? BECAUSE I WAS HERE FIRST AND YOU GODDAMN HAVE TO IF NOTHING ELSE THAN OUT OF RESPECT. THAT’S HOW.
….or something like that.
Happy third birthday, blog. If nothing else, I still like you very much.
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