I despise these vapid Webby type contrivances designed to stroke the poles of bloggers and web developers since the late ’90s. My walls are lined with ribbons and placards of all the awards I’ve won. To add another is more nuisance than accolade.
(Mole dear, your wall is covered with posters of the Partridge Family, not web awards.)
Oh, right. Damn, that was the life I was GOING to have having dedicated my thirty’s to learning web languages and becoming a published web author. Alas, none of that panned out. I ended up working for failed startup after failed startup. (Geeze, maybe I’m the accursed one…)
OK, OK, here we go: Thanks TomBeingTom for, you know, calling me a female fox and obligating me to reply else I feel the heel and potentially miss the opportunity to flash my programming prowess, albeit, 20 years too late.
That, my friends, is some of the first C# I wrote back in late 2002 when .NET first came out. And what did I apply myself to building with that great new language? A blog of course, or rather: Web Log, as no one called it a blog back then.
I managed to post more than 500 entries into my custom made blog over the next 10 years until my server’s harddrive failed and I quit trying to fool myself that I would ever win any praise as a developer. A living career, yes. Awards, never. (I did make copies of everything, I’m not entirely daft.)
My first ever “blog” post in January 2003: (I used XML as a storage format — pretty prophetic, no?)
Blogging became more of a personal diary. But after things fell apart, I pishposhed about until I thought I’d better get back in and WordPress was a platform that seemed easy (free) and open (and free) and so I joined up (because it was free) in 2009; or so it says on my account page, I can’t believe it’s been that long.
Anonymole came a few years later in 2012.
The rest is all documented here in the pages of a subterranean gadriosopher (gatherer of knowledge). When it comes to life histories, brief is best. So, in short, I learned to code, made a blog, wrote some shit, the end.
But, hey, thanks AGAIN TomBeingTom for being the first to shine a bright light onto my failure as a web developer. (Kidding) [No, not kidding.] (No, seriously, I’m kidding.) [No, I’m not kidding at all, this is heavy shit. I think I may have to write another letter to Mudge begging to be consoled, placated at least, uncomfortably petted? Ya see, it’s all about bloggers getting stroked!]
Anonymole - apocryphal agitators 
Stevie Turner posted https://steviet3.wordpress.com/2019/12/19/is-it-worth-the-trouble/
Which contains the real nugget of what you talked around. WordPress and most blogdom is at best, a tepid tidepool of redundant mediocrity. There are a few flashes of brilliance, but very few. And how much/many greatest songs ever recorded or recipes or, or, or, or do you need? I was looking for a writing community where people wrote and posted their wares. By and large, it’s a wordy FaceBook, a marketing tool, a way to “keep your name out there.” Here’s a clue. Nobody gives a fuck except maybe a handful of “friends.” Unless, of course, as from my Faulkner post, you murdered your spouse in a high profile manner, won a sporting event, or are a processed mass of camera bait celebutante flesh.
What Stevie did was, wow, write. Posted something she’d written instead of marketing her plethora of short, rapidly written well-constructed novels. She lets her banner do that. (No comment on style, that’s always a choice) She also discovered the most positive traffic was from/about people writing, showing off their wares. WordPress should be that. Show and Tell for WIP, not diabetes-inducing Hallmark moment be like the sunrise drivel, not friend farming. The only blogs I follow are where people write. Whether I agree with them or not, whether someone needs to take an editing bat to their content or not. At least they are writing. Which is why I follow you.
But you gotta stop being a WAMF. We’ve all been somebody, tried to be somebody, have a garage or SSD or cloud full of shit we accomplished from yesterday. I say write. Post it. Talk about it. Why did you write it? What’s the Point? What are your intentions? Even if there are no answers, post it. “This shit popped into my head while I was driving down the Tollway.” BUt write. And post that, or something funny or philosophical if you must, but the Holidays are almost over, so is WAMF. Unless you have a whine for all the candy holidays, and then I’m going to recommend you seek professional help. Or WRITE MORE CONTENT and less WAMF.
Happy Gnu Year!
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Acronym Definition
WAMF Welsh Amateur Music Federation (Cardiff, Wales, UK)
WAMF What Are My Feelings
Always a bittersweet treat to read your comments, Dr. Phil.
I get your meaning, always a wall flower, never a wall. Get in and dance! My posts of late have primarily been saccharine icing on a cardboard cake.
There’s this fellow, Brian, who lives in Wales and he has a classic Dickensonian voice. I wanted to write something desolate for him to read:
https://davecline.wordpress.com/2019/12/27/apocalyptic-scenario-1-a/
I’m struggling with ShadowShoals. The characters deserve a completed tale, but getting back into their minds eludes me. I find myself editing not writing. Their sense is returning, slowly.
HNY to you too.
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Clint Eastwood, when asked what he liked least about the movie busines his most used profanity were the same. JAMF. Jive Ass Mother Fucker(s) Hence teh substitution of Whiny
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You’re barking up the wrong tree if you’re looking for commiseration from me on this one, Mole. Sure, I too noticed on xmas morning that Tom had chosen me for this award. And yes, it was out of some sense of obligation to a long-time friend and fellow blogger that I responded in the traditional manner and acknowledged it on my own page. However, had I chosen instead to ignore the bestowing of said virtual award, I would not have received my first direct and incredibly flattering correspondence from Robyn friggin’ Ross. All things considered, acknowledging Tom’s award was the best thing I ever did on NFTA.
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Honestly, that was my plan all along. 😉 🧐
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“What am I so afraid of? I’m afraid that I’m not sure of, of a love there is no cure for.” ~ Keith Partridge, 1970
Let me start by saying blogging looked a lot harder in the early aughts. These days all we have to do is think of a dumb topic, give our ludicrous opinion on the matter, correct the occasional grammar issue, and hit “publish.” That’s the problem with America today; we kids have it so easy! Back in grandpa’s day he had to trudge through the snow uphill barefoot both ways to deliver a blog in person to hundreds of followers. It would take all day! Sometimes he wouldn’t even know if he had likes!
(I currently have 12 on “Recognize!” by the way. I’ll take a dozen strokes.)
At any rate, thanks for playing along and putting your origin story out there. I guarantee there’s not one in a million bloggers today with your history! Speaking of which, no advice for the noobs? Some gem? A hint about longevity?
Again, thank you. Well done! And, look, somebody had to be the vixen. 🤷
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Thanks for taking the abuse, Tom. It’s all fun and games until someone loses a finger or their harmonica.
Are there noobs about? I thought we were all seasoned pros by now. So, advice may come as philosophies coughed up by a barefoot homeless on the wisdom of REITs.
I will share a trend I see developing: diversify your media venues. If communicating ideas through the web constitutes a passion, the channels we have available to us now should be leveraged.
[soapbox shatters beneath my feet and I fall on my bony tush nearly breaking a hip.]
2020 — the notion seems surreal even now.
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No joke! The older we get the more time flies, even when we ain’t havin’ fun. 🤨
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So how many stories have u written so far?
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Hmm, more than thirty, less than three-hundred? I had to go back into my archives to see that I only got serious about persisting my stories starting in 2016. Old media lost probably accounts for dozens. Old notebooks turned to meal maybe a hundred?
Regardless, I think the key now is that I’ve finally decided to learn the craft. Preserving my latest stories, now that they’re not replete with writing atrocities, seems wise, if for no other reason than to tickle the sensibilities of my children when someday they discover them.
I suspect you are as prolific. What drives you to write? Do you write to publish, write to release unruly spirits or some combination?
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That would be interesting to see, when our kids start reading us. I don’t know if I’d want to be around, though.
How did it start? Hm, I needed to vent, I was going thru some shit, and then it got serious as time went by, I joined a lit collective and started several series about my war and post war years, my being a mom, began writing poetry, found out what a flash really is, as well as some tricks about dialogues, atmosphere, what editors love to see, etc.
At first, I was encouraged to start submitting by fellow bloggers/writers I think the world of and it’s become a way of life with time, to be honest. Now I submit most of my stories/poetry first before posting them here.
It’s all of it combined, I let off steam, unleash my demons, heal, and get recognition for it. I feel good about it.
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Thanks for sharing. We all get started somehow, no?
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So you’ve had this blog for over 7 years now? Impressive.
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But what would Marcus Aurelius say?
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Damn, Duke, the voice of reason has no place during this tremulous time of year.
[sigh]
Or rather, now is exactly the time for the swelling murmur of a rational message rising to calm all nerves and assuage all trauma.
[Hums a mantra sounding like Bing Crosby gargling White Christmas…]
Notoriety is neither shunned nor coveted, but accepted, acknowledge, appreciated and adjourned.
A life lived in the past or the future is a life unlived.
Ah, spiced rum in eggnog, yule log playing endlessly on the telly, treats spread in explosion, Boxing day fondue heating over the Sterno. Now is a good time.
Thanks, Duke.
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I no longer need strokes…but I do appreciate your invaluable insights!!!
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Danny Partridge (to Rueben Kincaid and pointing at the walls) : Look, Mr. Kinkaid, we haven’t been forgotten.
Rueben Kinkaid (looking at all the posters) : No, Danny, we haven’t.
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