I actually really like blogging.
As a teenager, I religiously kept a Livejournal for years, posting something every. single. day. In a different life, I would have transferred those skillz over to a less angsty platform, and made a shot toward becoming a professional blogger.
In a different life.
But 2011 found me living out of a car, and once I saw the world from that angle, I never recovered from it.
Just as well, really, because in interim a number of blogger-culture quirks popped up that make my teeth hurt.
I don’t read many blogs now. A few years ago I enjoyed crafting blogs, until I realized that the quality of the actual crafts was dropping precipitously, while those popular bloggers were publishing how-to books that were teaching sloppy techniques. They didn’t care about the crafts; they cared about monetizing.
I’m enough of an arteest to believe that money comes second to artistic integrity. I won’t try to sell something that I was too lazy to put any effort into.
Sometimes I wonder how many other people care. I wonder how many other people are tired of vapid content generators that are concerned more about page views than connecting with readers. I wonder how many people are like me … if anyone.
I like blogging. I’ll probably start putting more energy into it from now on, simply because I’m tired of hiding who I am for fear of being hurt. I just refuse to be anything other than me, especially for a paycheck.