The very word blog is funny to me. It sounds so messy, like a blob. A pile of icky goop that jiggles.
Perhaps that's what the blog is, a blob of words on a page that people look at and go, "ugh". So many bloggers laboriously pour their thoughts out onto the page, and so few of those words are seen by any audience. They sit in the abyss of the world wide web, waiting desperately for someone, anyone, to read them.
A quick google search of "how to build a blog audience" renders about 59,000,000 links. I can find a variety of tips, ranging from 12 to 21 in number, but none of these links says anything original. None of them says anything original.
Another search of "how to blog" results in 1, 560,000,000 sites. Are you shitting me? I think the internet might be bigger than the galaxy!
My point is, does anyone really give a rat's bottom about what I have to say in these musings? More than likely there are three of you who have actually read this post, and you are the same three who complimented me on by first few posts. Thanks for sticking with me, ladies. You're the best.
So, the answer to my question is an obvious, "No!" No one is going to randomly read my blog. I'm ok with that. Perhaps I have to think less about the forest and more about the flora in my own back yard. Why am I writing at all? Do my words have to matter to someone else in order for them to matter at all?
Finding the time to write everyday is a challenge with a full time job, a desire to be able to wear a bikini at the beach this summer, and my efforts to be nominated for "Mother of the Year". Plus, there's facebook and twitter, and then I could color my hair again. I also spend a lot of time watching the dog hair collect into dust bunnies in my hallway, and then there is the ever-long debate of whether I should vacuum. I digress.
What I like about blogging is that I have a space that I can come to as frequently or infrequently as I like. I can pontificate about the world around me, watch the whirlwind in my mind while I try to grab an idea or two before they blow away. It doesn't even matter if anyone else is reading this. I'm writing it, and in doing so, I like to think that I am planting trees--building my own forest, where I can go and wander, escape the world around me, get lost in words, and try to make sense of all the chaos that surrounds me.