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Wouldn't you know it, it was just before eleven, and I was just getting ready to leave on foot when I got a call to go finish the day shift at the school by my house. Four hours. Done.
So, back home, and sign in to the wfb.
I've reached a point where I'm asking myself why I'm doing this- writing a blog, that is. I was clicking some links on Joan of Argghh's blog, Primordial Slack, and I ran across a guy who had a set of rules to make your blog get a zillion visits a month guaranteed. Most of it made pretty good sense, but as I read through the list I realized I had no inclination whatsoever to put any of it into practice.
Get a thousand hits a week, or a day. Have hundreds, or even thousands of people regularly clicking on to read the things you wrote. See dozens of comments on every post. Is that what this game is about? And if it isn't, then why invest the time and effort at the keyboard? It would be an odd move to make a film, or write a story that you never planned to let anyone see. Stranger yet to invest effort in a project, and be almost indifferent to how the work is received. I remember how it felt submitting art work for juried shows. Would I get in? Would I win anything? Those were questions worth losing sleep over. I suppose if I were sitting and composing serious essays on serious topics like Van does, or writing fiction then I'd be more concerned with how the work was received. Is anyone going to read these small ramblings, the details of a rather uneventful life that I type out, and submit for public consumption? I'm almost indifferent. Almost.
In a way, I suppose this is a kind of graffiti, an extended tag on Blogger's wall that may get noticed, and may get ignored. Maybe it's a message in a bottle. Or maybe it's a half assed bid at fame that is guaranteed to return the rewards of all things done half assed. All of the above, I suppose. But the last details of the day still need attention. Dinner, and the peace of the evening await.