Since I started blogging several months ago and basically stopped adding my writings to a regular website, I have seen my readers cease to show. For the most part, they’re just not blog-people. As a friend of mine celebrated his blog’s millionth (or was it 2 millionth) hit, I checked this site repeatedly for that first big milestone — 500.
The big bang was a couple of weeks ago and Distinct Impressions has since eked its way up to a dazzling 531 hits. “I’m not discouraged by that,” he wrote. “This blog is an expressive outlet for me. If no one ever looks at it, that’s all right.” At least that’s what I’ve read on dozens of other blogs that I’ve discovered by hitting the NEXT BLOG button on my browser.
In my case, that statement is mostly true. I used to write this kind of stuff in little spiral notebooks. But most of it was my complaints about life and how bad things seemed. I thought it was journaling. I discovered that writing out the really bad things that were happening in my life didn’t help me move past them. I guess I thought that venting would help.
Blowing out the frustration doesn’t really seem to impact things for me. So, when I’d go back to these journals and read the inevitable pity-pulp that was there, I’d feel ashamed at sinking so low. I’d rip out everything I’d written — including anything positive that came along — and start over.
Pretty much a waste of paper, ink, and precious time. I still have those notebooks — stacks of them. Lots of blank pages. But little to show for my effort.
I have discovered that when I share my writing with others, I think on a higher level. I look more for the positive. I enjoy the mild adventure that is my life. And it doesn’t really matter whether anyone ever sees — the point is, they could. My biggest complaint these days is the scarcity of time to sit and to write.
It’s been a few weeks since I’ve last written. I’m working under a big deadline at work. As these words tumble off the ends of my fingers and on to my keyboard, I feel a little guilty. I should be doing something else. And I really just came to the site to check my stats.
And that revealed to me 531 hits. I was just about to close the site when I noticed a more subtle number a little further down on the page. 432. Four hundred thirty-two spam hits that a magical program had diverted from my blog. Actually, there have been a few more. About ten spams attached themselves as comments to my entries in the early days. Then the magical program learned to defend against them as well.
So, like I said, I was about to close the site when I begin to think how cool it was that I’ve had almost as many spam hits as those from real people. For, if each spam hit cancels out a real hit, I have just about achieved the same level of readership as I had with my paper notebooks.
Pity-pulp? Hardly. After all, I’ve been blessed to spend the last ten minutes writing about nothing in particular and I love it.
And, even though I insist it doesn’t matter, I know that there are those faithful few who will drop by and give me a quick read. It’s those good people who keep my stats on the positive side and beat back the spam.
What a great life!