Fame and Fortune

I’ve been asked recently, “Why do you blog?  Why do you feel you have to share your life with the interweb?”

I’ve also recently been called narcissistic because (I suspect) I have this blog. 

Is blogging narcissistic?  Is it showing off?  I would think it would be if your posts are day-after-day-after-day drivel of your “accomplishments” and “achievements.” 

Or if you blog about what you’re wearing that day (I can’t BELIEVE how many blogs there are out there that give a daily wardrobe photo.) 

Or if you blog about your on-going renovation of your million dollar, million square foot guest house (inviting us to help pick out your slate tiles…)

Or if you post a photoshop-enhanced picture every day of your child who really is rather odd looking.

But my blog?

Um. Not likely. 

I started my blog almost two and a half years ago to help me remember where my favorite websites are.  To make it easier to troll around and visit some very talented and funny writers.  To help me remember the funny and poignant things that happen to me, my family and friends.

My blog was created specifically for me.  I write…to me.  To the future me who will someday (probably sooner than later) forget what happened at Macy’s that night.  Who’ll forget how I felt last October saying my last goodbyeWho’ll forget who baked which cookie at the Cookie ExchangeWho will forget what happened at MOMA.

Yes, I wish I had more readers.  Specifically, more readers like my in-laws, who moved upstate and don’t get to see Zombiegirl on her first day of school.  Like far-away friends and relatives, so we can keep in touch. But I’m grateful for (most) of the readers that I do have.  I’m over-the-moon-and-back kinda thrilled that my Dad reads my blog.  We talk about what I write and he supports me 100%.  I rejoice that I found Joyce, a long-lost relative and that now we have a long-distance relationship.  My friends who have read my blog tell me they enjoy reading what I write and they visit almost every day.  I totally appreciate their support.  Even Beena reads my blog and because of that, I’m able to tell her how much I love and respect her on here without her getting all embarrassed.

But…I don’t do it for anyone other than myself.  I am my most frequent visitor.  As I re-read my entries and remember certain instances, I don’t think I’m being egotistical or showy at all  (well, maybe one).  I do post pictures of some of the crafty things I do, but trust me, I’m not showing off.  There are far more talented people out there than I- I just post this stuff so I can remember the whats and the hows.  If someone could glean some info from what I write and make, well then, I’m flattered.  I think sites like Facebook and Twitter are much more egotistical- the minute-to-minute updates and the posts about what one is cooking for dinner?  Who cares?  If I wanted to know every aspect of your life, I would move in with you.  This is why I’ve hidden a good number of my friend’s statuses.  The drivel was driving me crazy.  Same thing with blogs.  If you don’t want to hear about my bloody periods or menopausal rantings, then you don’t have to read.  It’s called free choice!

I don’t have ads on my blogs to make money.  I very rarely comment on someone else’s blog because I know people will track back here.  I don’t write for the hits or for the stats.   I’m not looking for fawning fans or blog sheeple to tell me how wonderful my life/blog/house/child/wardrobe is.  (Yeah, pick one.)  I’m not in it for fame and fortune.

I like to write.  I write what I know.  98% of what I put out there is true- the other 2% is lying by omission.  You don’t get everything, trust me.  If you read, and you like- GREAT.  You don’t have to tell me (although compliments ARE accepted gratefully and gracefully). You can lurk all you want and never say a word to me at the PTA meeting that you read- GREAT, too!  If you’re seething because I’m blogging and can’t stand what I write- tough titties.  And if you don’t like it- there’s the virtual door.  Don’t let it smack you in your virtual ass on the way out.

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