One thing is for sure about what's going on with this blog and my writing. Here's an article that addresses the money aspect of blogging:
http://news.cnet.com/8301-17939_109-10048448-2.html?part=rss&subj=news&tag=2547-1_3-0-5
I don't have anywhere near the number of readers that are being used in this article. There is only one conclusion I can reach from reading it. My writing stinks. There may be more to it than I'm taking into account, like advertising this site or the other ones I've used before. I don't make any efforts to promote the site to potential readers. The reason is that I don't write for-the-other. I oughta, I guess, but I just don't. As it states in the main header above, I have my own reason for writing. That reason is to capture drifting thoughts with words. If I don't attract readers it can only be for two reasons. Either I choose uninteresting drifting thoughts to attempt to capture with words or the words I'm using to capture them are ill chosen. I don't actually care so much, but if my life depended on it I'd probably try to change my ways.
I can't assume that other people agree with me that what I write is pretty much meaningless. They should, but they just don't. Sometime I wonder why they encourage me. I believe they want something somebody writes that they actually know to mean something they feel but just can't express in a way that satisfies them. I believe that's their problem with accepting that I'm just making this shit up. Anything can mean anything if you just want it to.
The endgame for me is that I can't afford to give a shit about what people think about my writing if I want it to work for me as planned. Some days what I write bores the hell outta me, but other days not. I can't tell ahead of time if a topic or subject is gonna reveal something I've been trying to understand about myself or not. There have been times when I rushed to sit down at my computer and start writing about something that inspires me, and after a few minutes, the whole deal peters out. Other times I write a disingenuous first paragraph or two, and then a whole new world opens up for me. For me. For-me. Being for-myself.
I am beginning to suspect that it's not that easy for some people to do for themselves. They've been taught that it's better to give rather than receive. So was I. Doing for others was what I rebelled against as a pubescent teenager. I didn't understand why I shouldn't be selfish. I still don't. I don't have to concern myself with doing for the other because I've been raised to it. I can't not consider the other. It's considering myself that I have difficulty with.
This is going nowhere, so I'll get up tomorrow and give it another go.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
