Will you be my friend?


I have been blogging for almost 5 years now. When I take a step back and think about it, that kind of feels like… wow. Except for I guess I should be a little more honest with that statement. I have had a blog for 5 years now. During which there have been several peaks and valleys of blogging more or less or, well, not at all.

In 2013 I published 20 posts, one every 2 1/2 weeks or so. I followed that up with a whole 2 posts in 2014. Now here I am again and I sort of feel like, “Where did everybody go?” Turns out a lot of my blogging community did the same thing I did. They quit blogging. Or cut way back. And I miss them. I miss the interaction. I miss hearing about a reader’s reaction or input in the comments. I miss reading about their lives on their blogs. I miss the connection and the friendship.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful, because I am. I am grateful for anyone that spends their precious time reading a post on my silly, little blog. I’m grateful for the few bloggers from my past that are still around. And I’m grateful that there are others out there I haven’t met yet.

I’ve been browsing tags and scanning blog rolls and butting into conversations. Basically doing all the things I did when I first started blogging, and it feels a little uncomfortable. It’s like I’m awkwardly asking, “Will you be my friend?”

Because that’s what blogging means to me. It’s not about a microphone or a stats race. I know for some it’s about writing and I can appreciate that. But I’m not really a writer. For me it’s about friendship and connection and community. I want mine back or to find a new one, and I want it now! But that’s not how it works, is it? Just as in real life, it takes time and a little luck to build meaningful relationships.

So I suppose I just need to be patient… I suck at being patient. There, now you know something about me. What should I know about you?

Photo Credit: Blogging? by Anonymous Account is licensed under CC BY 2.0

Catch me if you can

I’ve been thinking a lot about writing lately. Not blogging specifically. Just writing in general. I find myself writing in my mind while I’m going about my business during the day.

I’m not sure what format I want it to take quite yet. Of course I could utilize this blog. That would be the logical thing to do. But it smells a little too much like what I’m supposed to do. There’s all kinds of pressure that goes with this blog. Pressure to write at some frequency. To pick topics that will satisfy my two readers. To… ugh… include pictures. Who has time these days to remember to take pictures? That’s what I want to know.

And I have my journal. But my journal is not a very interactive community. It’s also very stream of consciousness. And while I enjoy the lack of restrictions, a part of me does actually want to write. (Hush now about this post. Let’s just pretend I’m not rambling.)

A part of me wants to write some fiction. If I had a bucket list (which I suppose I sort of do because I too often start sentences with “If I had a bucket list”) it would include writing a book. I often dream up plots and characters and all that jazz. But I’m really not the dedicated writer. Not in the way that all those other bloggers are. The ones who are writing books and reading books about writing books and doing all sorts of other dedicated-ish things. I’m really not that passionate about it. Maybe a short story. Eh, let’s start with a blog post.

I’ve also been entertaining the idea of starting an anonymous blog. Somewhere I can write about anything. An interactive journal. A picture-less, perhaps more interesting blog. Oh, but what if I got caught?