For at least the last five years (and maybe longer) countless people have suggested I write a blog. Have I written a damn thing? Of course not. I’m lazy. My attitude…how much does that pay? Nothing, that much. If my words are valuable, and worth something, why write? I can’t pay myself.
“You’re funny,” they say. “Love your Facebook posts,” they say. Friends, family, my shrink, they all say, “Don’t wait for paying gigs; write a blog and the attention will come.” Sure they will, because there aren’t a million shitty fucking blogs that no one reads on the Interwebs already.
I joined Facebook in 2007, as did most of the people I know. Yeah, like lemmings we all joined in the same year. Early adoptors, we’re not. And I’m OK with that. Never been at the head of the line, so why start in 2007? I’m not Mark fucking Zuckerberg. If I was, I wouldn’t be writing this blog.
But anyway. “Your Facebooks updates are funny,” they say. We’ll find out how damn funny I am.
Since 2007 these are some of my Facebook status updates. If they aren’t funny, don’t blame me.
“I would second that emotion If I could feel any.” Or, “My Wikipedia page is full of incorrect information.” Or how about this one? “I’m severely allergic to other people’s children.” Or maybe this? “My entire life is an inside joke.” OK, I like that last one. It’s kinda funny. But do you think they’re funny? What I want to say is, “I don’t give a fuck.” This is for me, right? Nope, it’s not. This might be cathartic and soothing to be able to swear and make fun of people, but no one writes a blog for them. It’s for others. It’s always for others. If it wasn’t bloggers wouldn’t blog. Even the most reader-deficient blogger hopes for a readership. Even one person. One is good. Will it happen? Time will tell, but do I care? Nope. Honest. Would I like to make a living off this? Sure, who wouldn’t? But I’m no Jenny Lawson or Kelly Oxford or Mark Manson. Hell, the only thing I have in common with Kelly Oxford is the citizenship.
There are a lot of funny people out there. What is funny, anyway? Funny is what makes you happy. And what makes sense (or is funny) to one person is unfunny or nonsensical to someone else. Humour is subjective and often gets lost in translation. Humour is hard.
But, do I care about any of that? Nope. It takes guts to put anything out there that someone else might read. And judge. And critique. If you are brave enough to do it then you get a golf clap from me because you’re better than I. It’s taken me years to even embrace the thought of writing for the sake of writing, and not for a paycheque.
And this might not even see the light of day. But if you’re reading this then I guess I’ve put aside my insecurities. Do I care what you think? Sure. Who doesn’t want acceptance? But do I really? My answer is no. if I did care, I suspect I would not be writing this. At least not with the intent of making this publically viewable. My insecurities and hang-ups at the thought that someone else might read this make it scary, but if I want to write, and have an outlet, whatever that is, I can’t care.
This is a big deal. We’ll see how long this lasts. I hope you find something worthwhile.