Well, I called that, didn't I? I knew last night as I was putting the finishing touches on "i ain't even playin'!" that there would be a massive type of emotional repercussion. That repercussion has washed ashore with such volume as to make it hard for me to breathe. This has multiple points of intersection that needs addressing but the place where I would even begin is fuzzy and hard to see.
Point one: wherein I sign up for Twitter and get a Twitter account (I know, I know!) yesterday. I presumed this would steer a massive populace to the blog but it has not. All I have managed to do was infuriate and stupefy a gentleman whose blog I had read. I found him on the Twitter application and added him and he wondered "who the hell I was"?!
Point two: wherein I wonder why I don't have more friends on Twitter or elsewhere?
Point three: wherein I sign up for an application called Feedburner which will provide the metrics and page-views of my blog. This is a tool for the nascent and eruptive blogger to tell how his work is being received by the general population at large. Well, color me ignorant and sad like a chicken, but I signed up expecting to see, say, tens of thousands of page-views. I did not see that reflected in the numbers. In fact, the number was in the low 20's. My grief was compounded by my sturdy realization that I and I alone was the only person repeatedly reading and scanning and enjoying my own blog!!! Like the worm in the tequila bottle, over and over.
Point four: wherein I go onto my Youtube page and see how many times my videos have been viewed. Again, color me naive like a bag of coins but I was expecting thousands and some of my videos have been watched less than 10 times!! Most likely just by me!!! Can you imagine the heavy thumping ache that pounds my beating heart?????
Point five: wherein I re-watch my video for "i ain't even playin'!" and I find it tortured and unwatchable, like the wail of some lost dingo on the prairie. Yes, the intent is there, but the execution falls flat and my final improvisatory "Boo-ya!", while well-intentioned, appears to undermine the central thesis of the song in the first place.
Point six: wherein I find a hole to crawl into. Sadness! Despair!
stay strong Taffy...art is suffering. There's no way around it.
ReplyDeleteYou are "the best"! Thank you Carrie. I know, you are correct in that mode of thinking. Art is creation and hence, pain. It's going to hurt, of course it is! I appreciate you actually reading my blog!!!
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