Five days ago, I published my first legit blog post in well over a year. It felt good, and I thought to myself: I need to keep at this.
Over a decade ago, I was one of thousands and thousands who tried to become a BFD through blogging. I subscribed to ProBlogger, and read everything I could about carving out a niche and creating content. About attracting an audience and pumping them full of bloggity wisdom.
I actually did okay at it a few times. Once, I had an anonymous blog called The Very Left Reverend where I ended up attracting a fair amount of traffic by gleefully taking down those who loved Beth Moore. A couple other times, I had blog projects that started getting the attention of social media influencers. But by the time that happened, I had basically run out of things to say.
Every writer wants to be read. Every speaker wants to be heard. Every vlogger wants to be seen. It’s not selling out. In my opinion, there isn’t any nobility in “art for Art’s sake.” We create because we want to connect. But we have to be judicious in what we write, say, or film. We can’t just throw things up on the net.
Or maybe we can. I’m one of those people who actually abhors small talk (more than abhors it. I don’t naturally understand it), so perhaps my aversion to not wanting to write something just because I thought it would be a good idea to write everyday has more to do with that*. I don’t have anything profoundly important to write. It feels futile and dishonest to rack my brain for “something to blog.” And, so, I almost quit this blog today.
*Also, the “Real World Confessional” nature of this post is pissing me off.