Ah, To Be Freshly Pressed

If I could have a super power, it would be one that would allow for me to insert extra hours into the day, so that whenever I was feeling that the standard 24 were not sufficient for me to get done what I wanted to get done, I’d have a solution. Of course there would have to be a limit as to how often I could use the power, otherwise the calendar would never move.

I don’t blog enough. I’m aware of that. I’m envious of those who find time to post daily and wish I could be better at that (hence my wish for the super power). But beyond the ‘how often’ with blogging, there is an issue of the ‘what’. What is it that people want to read? What exactly will get me the attention I want, or really the attention that I need so that people will know my name when it’s time my book comes out? The other day my inbox went from having 20 unread messages in it to having 16,284. It seems unreal, I know. But have you heard of Nerdy Apple Bottom?

A few weeks ago I started a daily ritual of logging onto wordpress during lunch to look at the Freshly Pressed page where a sample of the day’s most noteworthy blog posts are in the spotlight. Sure, it might be a better use of my time if I were drafting my own new posts but, a) I’m reading some really good writing, some of which is written by my competition and b) I’m feeling extra motivated, wanting very badly to be amongst the lucky ones on Freshly Pressed. (Thank you Freshly Pressed for lighting a match under my ass.)

So the inbox explosion—it happened the other day after logging on [to Freshly Pressed] and seeing a post titled, “My Son Is Gay.”” Hmm,” I wondered, “I’ll have to see what that’s about.” So I clicked on it. It was an essay written by a mother whose little boy wanted to dress up as Daphne from Scooby Doo for Halloween. Instead of telling you the whole story, I’ll let you click on the link above. What I will say was that reading it, the hair on my arms stood up, it was so emotional. And when I was finished, there was no way I could leave this woman’s blog without thanking her. So I clicked on the comment link, wrote her a little note and went to hit “send”. But before actually doing that, I checked a little box that asked if I wanted to see others’ comments as they were posted. “Sure,” I thought, figuring it would be interesting to see what others had to say. That’s where I made my mistake…

…because I never imagined 37,000 comments. Who can read 37,000 comments? Certainly not I. But the email alerts kept coming. And not one or two. Hundreds…thousands…by the minute, continuously rolling in, like the oil from the BP rig that kept spewing this past summer, day after day after day. Thankfully, before all 37,000 of the comments reached me, I was able to redirect any incoming ones to my recycle bin. But as for the 16,000 that did make it to my inbox, I’m still working on deleting them… a chunk at a time in fear my computer might spontaneously combust.

Of course I wish I had the time to read each and every reply in support of the anonymous mother writer. And I congratulate any blogger who can garner such a wealth of attention. Now, for brainstorming!

Should I ever make it to a point where my readership hits the quadruple digits and every one of my visitors takes time to comment, I promise, I will somehow find the time to read every one… even if I do have to fit it into my 24-hour day.

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