Meta Blogging
Sometimes I read something or do something and it gives me an idea for something excellent to write about. But I’m at work or on a bus, so I make a note to myself or save the link.
Then, eons-in-thought-years later when I sit down to write something, I pull it up and scratch my head wondering what the hell I can do with it. Not because I don’t see the excitement in the topic anymore, but I just don’t see how to express it anymore. It’s kind of an odd phenomenon. It’s similar to audio capture challenges I find myself running up against these days: if you need to go back and overdub something, no matter how carefully you recreate the environment you recorded in previously, chances are you will have to dress the new sound up to match the old.*
So today I was going to write about how my brain is binary, but instead I’m going to throw more bullshit onto a heaping bullshit pile. I have recently started reading enough blogs, often enough, to claim that my toe has been dipped in the pond of increasing numbers of nerds who fully comprehend the concept of the blogosphere: a virtual community of people of all different shapes and sizes, often with opinions larger than voices since they can proclaim anything and deal with the wrath in a delayed comment response system instead of in face-to-face interaction, who all incestuously refer to each other (whether or not they have ever met) as if they lived in a small-town neighborhood ruled by its grapevine. [Is there a prize for creating a sentence with almost 100 words?]
The hot topic on the grapevine last week was blogging for a living. I’m not throwing in my two or eighty cents because I blog for a living or am any authority on the subject whatsoever – because I clearly don’t and am not – but because I have an opinion and blogs are for foisting opinions on unsuspecting, if not willing, victims.
[I'm sounding negative, so let me be clear that I haven't named these opinions bullshit because I think they are worthless. I mean more that unofficial sources of information (i.e. personal blogs) can only get you so far.]
And what I have to say on the topic is that the issue has very little to do with this particular hobby/profession and its degree of lucrativity (that should totally be a word), and a whole lot to do with a more general habit that we (humans? 21st century-ers? Americans?) possess. Fast money and getting something for nothing are common themes. And beyond materialism, we dream of notoriety that we stumble upon, instead of sweating for. We hope happiness will be dropped in our lap. In short, we would prefer to get what we want, when we want it, without trading anything for it.
I once worked on a show that shared crossover space with a larger, professional theater. A world-renowned Russian ballet was performing in the large hall while we performed in the smaller venue, and as I walked through the hallway from the wings to backstage, lanky-but-sturdy Russian men would whiz by, giggling while carrying wispy girls as they rushed to get from their dressing room to stage left.
At one point, the stagehands kindly invited us into the wings to watch the performance from the sidelines. Standing by the rails, I watched a ballerina on teeny tiny tiptoes twinkle her way across the stage, graceful, twiggy arms outstretched and head bowed to the side like a long-necked bird. The industrial lights bathed the stage in a glow, small specks of dust filtering through the beams and flashes ricocheting off the sequins on her tutu. But for her incremental inching to the left, she could have been an inanimate statue – you could not see her breathe. She made it look so gracefully easy.
Nevermind the years of arduous training at dawn. Nevermind losing your childhood to the adult world of The Business. Nevermind starving yourself to stay thin and trekking thousands upon thousands of miles from your home to entertain thousands upon thousands of complete strangers. Nevermind all that. For this one girl, this life was a breeze. Watching her from the audience or the wings, drifting lightly across the stage like a leaf to the sound of the orchestra swelling, we could all think her life was magnificent and glamorous. All the accolades! So pretty! So sophisticated! What a life…
But then comes the part that the audience doesn’t see. The part that instantly bursts that grandiose bubble and reminds you that nothing is for free. The very second that the last edge of her tutu has disappeared into the dark of the wings, she collapses into a heap of starched mesh, almost disappearing inside of it. And the heap heaves dramatically like a monstrous haystack come to life. Two or three very round old Russian bubbe types rush to her with wooden hand fans and do their best to circulate the air and help her breathe.
After a moment, they lift her up and help her out of the wings to make room for another spent dancer.
Though my example may be dramatic, such is it with all dreams of something for nothing: they are a fallacy. Sure, there may be a very small number of exceptions floating around out there, but they will land on random and unsuspecting beneficiaries and nothing you can do will make your odds of receiving them any better, so best to forget about it.
The ballet dancer’s illusion in the blogging world is that (the few) bloggers who make a living doing it are sitting in their pajamas all day, loafing around and very occasionally, and at their leisure, sitting down for a few minutes to write something. That may be how blogging works for me, except that when I would be loafing, I am working the job that actually makes money. That is not, however, how blogging works if you do it full time.
So if you like to write a blog, write a blog. And if you like to dance, dance. If you need to pay your rent, find a job. And if that which you enjoy ends up making you money, more power to you – but you’ll be working hard for that money. But stop looking for free money. There is none.
*Bonus: Can you tell where I lost steam on this one and had to pick up a few days later?
