The swirls and ripples of the blogosphere will let your post resurface any number of times to an ever-widening pool of readers.
Never underestimate the infinite lifespan of a blog post.
Your post may not make a big splash the first time, nor days later, but it has the potential to be viewed many times into the future.
I know, because I have certain posts which haunt me. In the nicest possible way, of course, but it is still rather disconcerting when an old post gets a sudden flurry of views. It’s like they tread water waiting to bob up.
The reason behind my floating posts remains unclear to me.
Where, or why, my original blog story becomes resuscitated could be caused by any number of factors from reblogging to tweeting or—
linked on someone’s page
kindly mentioned in a comment
family members on Facebook
topic of interest and my tags swum into view
tumbled into the lake of eternal blogs…
I’m sure the tech pond at WordPress is teeming with answers but that’s too factual for me, I prefer the serendipitous, the happenstance of it all.
Overall, I am always pleased and still thrill to see those stats wade across the WordPressmap!
Writers need to write but do readers need to read?
From early on I made the decision not to Like a post unless I had read it. As you can guess, it‘s hard to do. Every day millions of posts circulate around the world on countless blogging platforms and social media sites to such an extent that most of them will NEVER be read. At least, not fully. I think I am pretty safe in saying that. We are doing the modern equivalent of shutting the gate after the horse has bolted.
Which brings me to the heading of my post. I will answer my own question. It is preferable to get things out of your head and onto a page for personal satisfaction rather than thinking you are making a useful contribution to the world. Plenty of specialists are making useful contributions but I guarantee they are writing to a niche audience, not the world.
Another decision (note I use the word ‘decision’ because we are given choices then have to make one decision) I made is not to seek Likes and Followers and not to maintain a prolific output to pursue a high profile. I have not activated my Comments because the majority of blogging sites appear not to have worthwhile comments or replies and, if they do, the bulk of them are from fans bordering on sycophant behaviour.
I’m not a tortured genius nor do I have a singular agenda so I am way down the favourites listicle. I am happy doing my own thing and don’t pine for kindly Likes. However, I am very grateful for those Likes and Followers I do have because I feel confident they have actually read my blog posts. You can tell by my Home page that I am not going to stick to a theme, although I do have Photo Of The Week and I’m loosely hung up on the importance of literacy.
Why did I write this post? I will probably feel differently tomorrow but today I wanted to get it out of my head.
As I sit on our small balcony with the French doors open behind me, I can see a front view over the trees, over the shallow valley and up the opposite hillside. Roof tops gleam here and there and a council bus grinds its way up the steep incline of a street still named ‘lane” from way back when it took farm traffic up and over the hill.
To my right are the wooden chamfer boards which line the house, in this instance making the wall of our home office, or, as it was nicknamed many years ago, The Den. To the left is an open view over rooftops and trees and I’m right in line with a big fluffy white cloud. This cloud is probably bigger than an ocean liner. It is floating slowly through the blue sky.
To the side I hear the roar of a jet engine and a shiny aerodynamic form cruises past, heading towards the fluffy cloud. For the first time, I wonder what it must be like for the pilot, drawn inexorably into this massive expanse of whiteness. From experience I know that clouds can be bumpy rides but the unspeakable horror of something else flying into it from the other direction…nah, that’s not possible in this day and age…
The plane gets smaller and smaller until the sun glints off a tiny silver speck. I wait for it to be swallowed by the white cloud when, ever so gracefully, it curves away and downward, heading for the airport and out of my view.
I jump as suddenly a screeching white cockatoo cuts across my line of vision. It is closer but follows the same flight path as the jet. Still screeching to scare both friends and enemies, the cockatoo turns and mirrors the same downward arc, disappearing from sight.
Perhaps a philosophical parallel could be made, a bit of literary prose penned to suit the occasion. However, it is just an illustration of everyday life and I can still hear the highway rumble, the neighbour’s dog barking and the postman on a small motorbike with squeaky brakes. Nothing magical, no cheque in the mail, just suburban routine.