I am the constant poster. Writing for numerous blogs, as is my want, has me sitting at the laptop for a good portion of the day. I wake up and take my sugar with coffee and cream while sitting on the lawn in the warm morning shade. My soundtrack is the sounds of jazz playing alongside the birds, as together they attempt to drown out the streets around me.
I post periodically throughout the course of the day, with a baby on my lap or a 4-year-old on my back.
I post in the heat of the night, sitting up long after the house has grown quiet, sweat and a glass of whisky my only companions.
My posts are personal and abstract, thought-filled, or half-assed. They are sometimes sad, and, I hope, often funny.
The one aspect that I have yet to figure out is what type of post, created under what sort of variables, intrigues a reader enough to leave a comment.
How many times have you written something that you feel good about, even proud of for one reason or another, only to watch as it sat on the shelf covered with dust and crickets. Too often for me. Yet, I can spend 2 seconds and throw up one sentence of crap and get attention for days. What is up with the ficklality of the cursed comment?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not begging for them, I really want to know. As most any blogger will attest, comments are nice. They are a validation for us opening up our lives, they are the reward. It is a humble feeling, knowing that people all across the globe can appreciate something that you’ve done.
If you feel as I do, and have posts that have gone neglected and unappreciated for reasons unknown, then give them to me, your poor, your lost, your huddled masses, and I will provide for them a new life. I will post them here at random, over the course of the next few weeks, and I will let them live again.
This isn’t where this post was headed when I started, but that seems to happen a lot too, and in this case, I like it. I guess that ensures the crickets.