Saturday, September 7, 2013


My blog's traffic history is replete with spikes of activity that I suspect do not reflect people who actually read the posts.  Having the map of Russia light up frequently indicates that many of the hits are spambots or worse.

So how can one judge readership?

Comments are one reliable way, followers are another (ten for the first and eight for the latter).  If I assume that only 1% of readers would bother to comment, that leaves me with eighty people who read my weekly posts. Sometimes I'll write something that undeniably appeals to a larger group, such as worrying about  submitting too early, or the Ten Stages of Story Development  I also got a big hit after I appeared at ReaderCon a month ago.

Why should I care about the traffic numbers?  No reason, except to give mean excuse to write this post for my (few) stalwards to read.  But mostly I write these blog posts to please myself, imagining some aspiring writer in a cold garrett seeking consolation that at least one other writer is equally as miserable, but willing to admit it.

But misery should not the predominate force in a writer's life. Instead there should be a passion for words, for the rhythm of sentences, the pace of paragraphs, and the smooth arc of a well-crafted plot.  The true writer is ever in pursuit of the perfect line that says exactly what they want, in an elegant manner, and with an economy of words.  Such a goal is seldom achieved, yet striving for that line, that perfect phrase, that simple yet significant turn of phrase is what impels us to create, to write, and to endlessly submit so that we can reach to another soul and so inform them of life and its joys.

But sometimes, just getting the damn thing done is enough.


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