Oh! The Pressure To Write So That I Can Become Famous!

On WordPress, I read about David McRaney, a WordPress blogger who garnered a book deal based on his blog.

I thought, Yay! Good for him!

Then, I read on msn.com about a writer over at cracked.com who wrote a piece about Hollywood’s inaccuracies about the work place. The piece garnered much attention, enough to be mentioned again on msn.com.

I enjoyed both articles. But it got me thinking…..

Oooooo. What if something I wrote got noticed by someone big?  How cool would that be? Oh, the hits my blog would get. I wonder how many new people would find me? How many would click that handy-dandy little subscribe button so that they could read what I’ve written every single time I post?

Every.

Single.

Post.

Oh God. They would click back here and expect another stellar piece. What would I do then?

I enjoy this writing outlet. I love sharing my inconsequential thoughts on the controversial and the mundane. But the majority of my posts are pretty boring and only interesting to a select few (other nuts) out there. And I have typos. And grammatical errors a plenty. Shoot. I’m willing to bet my former English teachers roll in their graves every time I click publish.

But I’m famous now. And I have a public to appease. So I’ll agonize and write and delete and write some more. I’ll spend hours searching the internet for new post ideas and the perfect picture to illustrate my point. The laundry would pile up. We’d eat Chef Boyardee or take-out Chinese every night. My kids would start going to school with mismatched socks and lollipops stuck in their hair. The dog would never get a walk. Dust bunnies the size of tumble weeds would turn our breakfast bar into a wild, wild west saloon.

Nope.

I can’t do it.

You’re stuck with the mostly average and the occasional stellar blog post.

So, go away you fancy, schmacy editors, you.

I just can’t handle the pressure.

Jane Finds God And A Whole Mess Of New Friends

WordPress is where I call bloggy home. Yesterday, my post on the Al and Tipper shocker was featured on their “front page.” A first for me. I was touched, honored, pleased even. When a post is featured it means that your post caught the WordPress editor’s eye because it was well-written, interesting and timely.

My post?

Well-written –  Uhhhhh, are you sure? My kids are on summer vacation. Have been for 2 weeks. And I’m already going batty. That post was written between: 4 bowls of cereal, 14 Shhhhh-es, 2 orange juices, one spilled juice, one xBox control breakdown, 3 pleas to stop yelling at each other, 7 bribes, one load of laundry, one half loaded dishwasher (side-tracked, I forgot to finish), 3 clothing changes (the kids, not me) and one dog barfing the latest Lego casualty. Honest to goodness, I wrote it. Spellchecked it. And clicked publish. I barely read the post myself.

Interesting – Seriously? I like People magazine as much as the next gal but we all put our pants on one leg at a time. Or as my grandma would say, “Everybody poops.” As voyeuristic as I can be, musing the lives of the rich and famous shouldn’t be interesting. Entertaining, maybe. But nothing to dissect, ponder and analyze. Quite honestly, I needed a topic I could whip off in a jiffy. I knew my time was limited and prone to extreme interruption. See above. I was right.

Timely – OK. I’ll give ya’ that.

And the number of hits to my blog? Amazing. Off the charts. Crazy. My dashboard graph looks like I hit one heck of a sugar spike. It was a day long diet of hot fudge sundaes, Twizzlers and Coca-Cola. Nary a vegetable to be seen. I was impressed. Touched. My ego definitely stroked.

And the comments? Also off the charts. I couldn’t keep up. My email box full and a child pulling on each leg, I barely had enough time to read them, let alone respond. Finally, when the kids were in bed, I decided to meet my new fans.

Now, most  of the comments were sincere. All were sincerely written, anyway. But then, we’re all writers here. Some better at fiction than others. I highly suspect I had quite a few fiction writers visiting yesterday.

(My advanced apologies to anyone who might be offended and feel I am speaking directly to you – when, in fact, your comments were sincere and had no ulterior motive.)

1. Some  simply wanted to introduce me to God. (God? Who is this God of which you speak?)

2. Some wanted to sell me a book. (I’m in the middle of four books right now – my limit. But I’ll keep yours in mind.)

3. Some wanted to sell me a wedding dress. (Did you not read the post? I’m already married. Twice.)

4. Some wanted to sell me their services. (Quite a variety, I might add.)

5. Some wanted to promote (or sell) their own blog. (I already have one. But thanks for thinking of me.)

Wait, they all seemed to want to sell me something. So, I’ll need to adjust #1. They were probably selling God, too.

All kidding aside, I have discovered some great new blogs. Your thoughtful comments and even the fact that you decided to check me out have me humbled and speechless. I also want to thank all my faithful, dear, “old” friends who braved the crowds and pushed your way in to hear what I had to say and share your words of wisdom. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I’m amazed by the people I meet here. I want time enough in every day to read/comment/email you all!

With the new-direct-line-to-God websites I’ve discovered, I just might have the “in” I was looking for!

Flummoxed Doesn’t Even Begin To Describe – And Neither Does Eliminate, Apparently

A dear friend of mine was inspired to call in to a nationally syndicated talk radio show. The topic of the program that day hit a nerve and she had something to share. She waited on hold while entertaining her toddler in the background. She finally got through. Live. On the air. She said her piece and used the word, “flummoxed.” She was flummoxed. A beautiful synonym for the words confused and perplexed. But the radio personality interrupted her, as he’s known to do, and accused her of not knowing what the word meant.

Now, I will admit, I do not use the word “flummoxed” every day. Or very often, for that matter. So I wouldn’t fault you for not being familiar. But he accused her, on the national airwaves, and asked her to define the word even though she had just used it correctly in a sentence.

(snicker, snicker – I’ll bet he didn’t know what it meant!)

So she defined it. Correctly. And of course she did. She’s a well-educated-former-attorney-turned-stay-at-home-mom-and-it’s-driving-her-crazy-because-she-loved-her-work-but-she’s-doing-it-anyway-because-she-feels-that’s-what’s-best-for-her-kids and that’s what I love about her. And he treated her, for all the world to hear, like just another “dumb housewife.”

Creep.

While proofing a post I created recently (ok, proofing is not really the correct term – more like pressing the spell check button) I came across a blue line underneath the word “eliminate.” I slowly checked my spelling. E-l-i-m-i-n-a-t-e. Nope. It’s spelled right. I re-read the sentence. “I will never be able to eliminate them from my life.” Nope. Used correctly. Hmmmmm. Please explain, I asked the spell/grammar check program.

This is what it said:

Try a simpler word for eliminate

Where possible you should use a simple word over a complex word. Simple words are easier to read and let your readers focus on your ideas.

Replace eliminate with

• cut
• drop
• end

Are you kidding me? Eliminate is a complex word? Not where I come from. I’m talking to other moms out there (and a few enlightened dads – thanks guys!). Moms (and cool dads) who are well versed in the world of elimination, if you get my drift.

I remember reading a while back that the average newspaper article should reflect a 5th grade reading level. A 5th grader should be able to read an article, understand all of the words and the point being made. I remember having the words “analyze” and “system” on a 2nd grade spelling test and thinking I was a big shot. Surely a 5th grader understands the meaning of the word “eliminate.”

So, WordPress thinks that the word “eliminate” is too difficult for my blog readers to understand? Apparently my writing has too many run-on and incomplete sentences, too. No surprise there – and I was just beginning to embrace that quirky nuance of my style. I also use passive voice on occasion. How else would you say “she was flummoxed” or “should be able to?”

Creeps.

I think I will just have to eliminate the WordPress spell check feature from my pre-posting routine. You are all just going to have to put up with my mis-spellings, run-ons, incomplete sentences and passive writing. I’m hard enough on myself. I don’t need WordPress rubbing it in.

And because, well, frankly?

I’m flummoxed.