Welcome to the Blogosphere

Note: The winner of Out of Coffee, Out of Mind’s First Blogversary Giveaway is Tessa Ann from Books, Bubbles, & Arohanui! Congratulations, Tessa!

When I first started blogging, I had no clue what I was getting into. I mean, yes, I was aware that I would hold myself to a strict schedule (at that point, a post every Wednesday), so I knew I would have to come up with something to write each week. How hard could that be?

Apparently more difficult than my cavalier brain made it sound.

Now, I realize some of you don’t struggle with blogging ideas, and I’m very happy for you. That’s actually not so much the issue with me. At the moment, I have over ten potential posts lined up—some even partially drafted. But, from the first, I underestimated the fact that I wouldn’t always feel confident about my ideas, that I wouldn’t always find them interesting a few days after their inception.

I was an ignorant little coffee bean about a lot of things, so I figured I’d enlighten you a little, in case you’re new to blogging, or in case you’re just curious.

During the early weeks of blogging, I got a handful of page views for every post, and I struggled not to get too discouraged. Instead of letting myself mope, I did my best to shake it off and look on the bright side. I decided to just go for it, to act as though I was speaking to a larger audience than my lone follower and the one or two weary travelers who found themselves stumbling through the caffeine haze of my brain. After a while, I found myself getting into the rhythm of things. Sometimes I forgot that I even had any readers, and I enjoyed the feeling of talking to myself in my own little corner of the internet. (That might have sounded a tad arrogant, or insane. *hides*)

Then I got my first comment, during November, and I suddenly remembered the existence of my readers. Right around that time, my page view count spiked, and that threw me for a loop. Suddenly I found myself balking at the idea of blogging at all. Somehow, I had been fine with the false sense of security that came with writing only for myself without the promise of a caring (or uncaring) audience. I realized I wasn’t so sure I liked the idea of people reading my work, and possibly, actually…liking it? Translation: I got stage fright.

For a few months after that, as I started getting a few comments here and there, and more and more page views, I found myself mesmerized by the little graph depicting the dips and rises of traffic on my blog, kicking myself when the numbers fell, cursing myself when they rose. Because, if there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I’m a very confusing person—but I’m also human (bet you didn’t see that coming), so I know this problem isn’t unique to me.

During this time, I consoled myself with the notion that, after the initial rush had faded, I would stop being such a wonky shot of espresso. And there’s a point to which that happened. Sometimes I go through whole weeks where I don’t even track my page views (although I do keep an eye on my audience, because it’s always exciting to get a new country—so far I’ve had hits from every continent except Antarctica. *waits impatiently for the Antarcticans to discover me*). But there are still periods when I care far too much, when I unconsciously (or consciously) gauge my worth by the rise and fall of my page view count.

Unfortunately, that close attention to my readership is what exhausts me the most and drains me of my ability to write anything even vaguely interesting. It’s brought me to that point of fatigue, on several occasions, when I’m not sure if I can post at all.

Looking back, I wish my self of August, 2014 had known what to expect. I wish I could tell younger me that it’s hard, but I shouldn’t let myself get hitched up in all the details, because the reward is well worth the effort—in fact, the reward IS the effort, rather than the outcome.

The reason I’m bringing all this up is that I’m going through one of the rougher times. There are many reasons why I’ve been struggling. For a while, it looked like my mother might have had cancer, and I spent two weeks living away from home while she recovered from surgery. During that time, I had a great deal of trouble focusing, because there were so many distractions. When I got home, I immediately started a new job, which cuts into my day, and I have other obligations that tend to take priority over reading and writing and other things I love—things that help me maintain my sanity.

That’s not to say I don’t love blogging. Lately I’ve found that love and discomfort aren’t mutually exclusive. But neither are they hugely harmonious.

Last Wednesday’s post, “I am Seven” did very well. Within a matter of twenty-four hours, it far surpassed my previous most popular post. I’ve received some very encouraging feedback, and I appreciate that so much. But writing that post was extremely difficult, and it burned me out a little. Unfortunately, though, there’s that part of me that wants to keep seeking out success, to tap into that something that made “I am Seven” resonate with people and made them want to share it with others. I know if I do that, without giving myself the necessary break from all things Africa, I’ll turn blogging into a chore, rather than a joy. (That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate it when you tell me you want to read more about Côte d’Ivoire, since I really am happy to oblige—I just need time.)

Even as I write this, I’m nervous, because I feel like I’ve set a precedent, reached a high score that I won’t be able to manage again for a long time. That everything’s going to be downhill from here. You’d think I’d only be happy at how successful “I am Seven” was, and I am. But I dread the mundane, the posts that don’t resonate as widely, the ones that get forgotten. All my other ideas pale in comparison, and I don’t want to get sucked into the trap of writing for page views, like a dog doing tricks for treats.

All that to say, in my experience, blogging doesn’t necessarily get easier as you garner a larger audience, because, if you’re like me, you’ll frequently catch yourself wanting more. So find your purpose, the reason why you blog, and cling to that, because comment counts and page views will always let you down. And write every post with the love it deserves. In the end, popularity is less important than art.

 

Note: A few weeks back, Heather @ Sometimes I’m a Story shared a lovely post, “How to Survive a Viscous Comment Count”, which taps into a similar vein and is well worth the read.