I am tired. Bone-tired.
Let me elaborate.
In the middle of chit-chat last week, a client encouraged me to write a novel. I am flattered, but refuse. Before that, another potential client offered me $150 to ghost write a 20-page romance novel. Just the same, I refused. Anything more than 10 pages fries my neurons to the core.
“Don’t think you can’t,” he said. “Write for yourself, not for other people.” That may seem a commonplace advice, but the timing was impeccable.
In the middle of chit-chat last week, a client encouraged me to write a novel. I am flattered, but refuse. Before that, another potential client offered me $150 to ghost write a 20-page romance novel. Just the same, I refused. Anything more than 10 pages fries my neurons to the core.
“Don’t think you can’t,” he said. “Write for yourself, not for other people.” That may seem a commonplace advice, but the timing was impeccable.
That same day, the blog hit an all-time low. For several weeks, the whole mumbo-jumbo with the recent Google update sent my blog traffic to a downward spiral. From 600 daily visits I’m down to 400, then some 200-ish. And to make it more fun, my RSS subscribers decided they don’t want to stick around anymore. So from 123, RSS readers became 68 the next day, then 12, and now it’s plateaud at 7 (Perhaps they found the new template and my 2nd subscription to Feedblitz for RSS daunting?).
As someone who hates Math, these figures seem gibberish to me. True confession: I don’t analyze my stats. I don’t use Google Analytics or the keyword tool. I don’t even bother to make a pitch for exchange links, exchange comments or to market on social media channels. I do have the usual metrics installed just to have a bird’s eye view of the blog’s progress, but rarely do I look at them. I am that lazy when it comes to marketing and SEO.
But when those all-time lows hit, part of me felt lost. And tired. I have never had such figures in years.
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| The butterfly was once this avoided creature that did not know how to fly. Until she persisted and said, “to hell with what y’all think of me!” |
You see, no matter how I hate blog marketing, I do get giddy with new comments and e-mails from readers. There’s the thrill of seeing the numbers go up because it means that people found something valuable in my home. Those numbers, which translated to readers, grew and stayed with me for years. And then very abruptly, they left. Just like that.
Those numbers somehow, became a validation of a part of me. If more people subscribed to my thoughts, then perhaps it meant that I am able to influence. Or inspire. Or make just a little sense.
And I am tired of that kind of thinking, of seeking validation in numbers, no matter how sporadically done.
I had to go back to that place nearly a decade ago and re-assess why I blog in the first place.
Way back in Friendster and Myspace era, I simply wrote. Sometimes incoherently, drunken on alcohol and teenage sorrow. It didn’t matter if anybody cared to look. I wrote and that’s all there is to it. I was happy.
Suddenly, we were bombarded with industry standards; with metric measurements that quadrupled faster than we can catch up. Of people making hundreds of thousands from ad boxes and bloggers gloating of 50,000 page views a day. And that’s when, rather ambitiously, I started caring about the figures, sometimes more than the reason why I actually set up the blog in the first place.
And I am tired of that kind of thinking, of seeking validation in numbers, no matter how sporadically done.
I had to go back to that place nearly a decade ago and re-assess why I blog in the first place.
Way back in Friendster and Myspace era, I simply wrote. Sometimes incoherently, drunken on alcohol and teenage sorrow. It didn’t matter if anybody cared to look. I wrote and that’s all there is to it. I was happy.
Suddenly, we were bombarded with industry standards; with metric measurements that quadrupled faster than we can catch up. Of people making hundreds of thousands from ad boxes and bloggers gloating of 50,000 page views a day. And that’s when, rather ambitiously, I started caring about the figures, sometimes more than the reason why I actually set up the blog in the first place.
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| A butterfly (technically, this moth) didn’t achieve its beauty without difficulties. But when it did, it’s awesome! |
If you inspect closely enough, you’ll see I don’t have ads. I eliminated every single one of them about a year ago as I don’t have the slight inkling to generate revenue out of my thoughts. Not on this blog.
(I do get invites for events and to sample dishes in restaurants, but even then, I select wisely. I don’t just jump on every offer, because that’s not my primary goal.)
I write because I need to. There’s that nagging need for me to write when I don’t, and I need a place for those thoughts so they don’t start taking over my day job. Before Filipina Explorer was born, I brought a journal and a pen with me wherever I went. That was a comfort blankie I kept since fifth grade. But now I have this.
(I do get invites for events and to sample dishes in restaurants, but even then, I select wisely. I don’t just jump on every offer, because that’s not my primary goal.)
I write because I need to. There’s that nagging need for me to write when I don’t, and I need a place for those thoughts so they don’t start taking over my day job. Before Filipina Explorer was born, I brought a journal and a pen with me wherever I went. That was a comfort blankie I kept since fifth grade. But now I have this.
This, perhaps the only place where I can be most truthful, where I can realign my thoughts. This gives me clarity and zen. And that I can not spoil anymore with an egotistical need for validation.
In the end, I find that the the reason I blog is the same reason I write – even for a living. Because I love to write. And blogging is essentially writing. Anybody is welcome to read along. If you find the blog to be of use to you so much that you subscribe to my RSS or e-mails, I would be grateful. But if you don’t, I don’t want to spend my days worrying about it. Figures don’t have much place in this writer’s life. Unless we’re talking about royalties and my salary.
