Being Freshly Pressed Ruined My Blogging Experience.
Before you start saying “wow, you’re such an ungrateful snob”, hear me out.
When I first started blogging back in November, I was hooked on checking my stats. Someone from India read my blog! That’s so cool! Wow, 10 followers! This is awesome, I’m totally reaching people. So I continued to write, and check my stats. And then I would try to write things that would make my stats go up. And when my views dropped I would try to come up with something that people couldn’t ignore.
And then I got featured on Freshly Pressed. And it was amazing! I’ve never felt a high like that from writing. Or, well, anything. I imagine this is what meth feels like. An insane high like you’ve never felt before, and from that first hit, you’re hooked. [Side note, drugs are bad. Don’t do drugs, kids.] My views skyrocketed. It was incredible to watch that first day as my updates feed got busier than Wal-mart on Black Friday. And the next day, it was even better. I went from having a personal best of almost 50 views in one day, to almost 2000 views two days later.
Now I sit here, writing as usual, and nothing much has changed. My stats bar has been slowly declining and is starting to plateau again. Other than the influx of followers, nothing much is different about my blog. There are just more people seeing it typically. But now those views don’t mean as much to me, nor do the likes on my posts. I like that we can get some conversation going, though. That’s definitely a plus. I used to try to reply to every comment as it arrived on my blog. With the wave of people reading my posts, though, that just wasn’t possible. Or maybe I just got lazy about it.
This isn’t to say that I wouldn’t want to be Freshly Pressed again. Oh, I want it. I crave it on days when I feel like my writing is getting dull. I think about that first brush with blog stardom, and fantasize about the next time it happens, if or when it ever does. I’m motivated by the very thing that ruined my blogging experience. Sometimes I feel like I’m not writing for me anymore. I’m writing for that Freshly Pressed Angel, hoping one day he or she will look down on me again and decide I’m worth showing to the world.
For now, though, all I can do is write and wait.