It Is All About Blogging

If blogging is an art of an intelligent alignment of ideas on various issues established writers do not care to write about and a shoddy style of making it in a way that is open to many literary fallacies, I have already done a bit of it. In the first place, I have chosen to write on issues that have stirred my feelings of spleen without seeking to be impeccable in the art of composition. The other day one of the neighbours from our locality died, leaving behind the uneventful history of a chequered life that others did not even care to despise as he had failed to live an entire life with his progressive wife and retain the membership  of the leftist party that talked about changes without changing itself. He would look a sorry sight at all the places such as the bazaar, the bus depot crowed with the people in their tearing hurry to get to their places of work and sometimes at the local branch of a nationalized bank with a sort of nervousness that could be a signal to robbers to clean him of what he still possessed. I appeared before him out of nowhere and talked to him for some time. As he beamed I could not but resist the temptation of clicking him with my phone but that I was going to blog about him was clear from the way I tried to be a bit curious about him. He smiled and then told me in a tone that was a bit coy that his wife had returned the day before and had cooked the most delicious item of his life. The piece of information that he had just given with a sort of brazen romanticism seemed to be a death blow to my blog as I could not and did not want to write about anything that did not have the best of dramatic irony. I felt like pushing him away to look for something to add fuel to my blog ever blazing a trail.

 My blog could be enriched with the story of worthlessness that is shocking but it can not have the plainness of what has utmost goodness. The story of a deceptive charm is more of a story element for my blog than that of what appears to be innocuous. No sooner did I write so far than I had to get up to open the door responding to the buzz of the bell that had kept me intoxicated for the last few years. It kept me awake, urging me to pound on the keys of the computer as I produced all the tempting posts which have turned out to be highly controversial and irreverent. A blogger has nothing to lose but his page views, crooned the woman who had just returned, smelling of an expensive perfume. She handed me a photograph of herself with another man I quietly hated, though I feared to be jealous of him. She patted on my back saying the best of daring and irreverent blogging should have something explicit like this with the racy text of my genre. The sheer deceptiveness of her smile seemed to make me an ancient man across the length of a million centuries during many of which I had blogged, carving on trees, my boats and mountain caves. For the first time I regretted the suppression of the tears that I could see trapped in the words bobbing on my new daring post.

In my dream last night the spirit of the neighbour told me that I should take some time before writing about him. He wanted me to take time to develop the fortitude of condoning certain things of life to recognize life on the fringes. He spoke in a prophetic tone that an honest assessment of many things otherwise misshapen might supply the clue to what will sustain life that we instinctively love to adore. Though I loved to listen to him, I could not tell him that I had to survive on an apparent obliqueness of what was shockingly obvious. Yes it does inspire me to blog about my discovery of life every moment of which is lived with a sort of enthusiasm, scalding myself and all of them.

Confessions Of An Ordinary Blogger

Ever since I became a blogger I have lost much of my sleep at night to write my stuff that would attract cherished page views. Despite my wife’s lack of trust in my prudence, I could see clearly that being a blogger without pages views, promotion on some smart sites such as Indiblogger and euphoric appreciation on social networking sites such as face book, twitter and G+, inter alia, would amount to drawing a blank as much as raising a demand for statehood with the government sitting pretty and clinical with the ears plugged. I rattled the keys on my computer furiously to churn out the stuff that would make people sit up and recognize the talent in me. By the time I had put in some assiduous hours of writing, I went through the draft as the first critical reader with a dispassionate outlook and realized that one with a keen observation would be repulsed by the stodgy material with many loose ends, though the text, interspersed with many intelligent quotations culled from different sources, seemed to succeed in adding a sort of variety just as sand dunes add something of undulating sensuousness to the plainness of the desert.

In an attempt to fine tune the art of writing, I turn to the blogosphere on the lookout for an oasis as I am convinced that a blogger knows everything. I read all sorts of reviews written by young bloggers with elderly sagacity with loads of advice about how a greenhorn should write tons of posts with perseverance without the least of expectation till the Day of Judgment to ensure the divine flow of traffic. An advice or two on writing quality posts sends shivers down the spine as the blessed time for writing such stuff is too short lived. As soon as the money from the salary starts running out beyond the week, the flame of creative impulse begins to get extinguished. Yet you have to write keeping in mind the question of page views and end with the ramblings of the worst blogger on the site that belongs to none but you. Were it not for the support of prompt promotion from the friendly bloggers from my network on Indiblogger, I would be a wooden plank floating on the ocean of blogging with no purpose. what makes things even worse is that sometimes blogging loses its literary merit as it is eclipsed by something purely technical, with the entity of search engine optimization looming large before me. This is simply too much for a simple and  non-technical blogger like me to tackle. If in the midst of this, one or two comments on my posts are as good as rave reviews, I cannot but get goose bumps, going red in the face which blanches throughout the year with a calamitous reality.  

When I get an email alert on my phone announcing a contest, I feel like running for cover as I have butterflies in the stomach. I cannot overcome the reality of the fact that that my poor post would suffer from exposure. Entries with depth and vision from fellow bloggers would accentuate the poverty of my post, making it stand out as a loner to be picked up those with similar fates. Yet I am haunted by the bogey of blogging like one possessed, seeking to channelize my confusion, anger, tears and laughter into the art of what they call blogging. In spite of being critical with the things that I observe and relate to, I have failed to get any clue from the face of my boss impersonating enigma and the way he easily turns me into an ass right before the people who had begun to adore me as a weakling metamorphosing into a genius over a  period of time. I cannot help muttering to myself that if this goes on in this manner, I may be required to do something to retrieve my honour. But I do not know what to do.  I am planning to make him a fellow blogger.

Labels: Blogging, Indiblogger, face book, twitter, G+, Day of Judgment, a fellow blogger, page views, traffic, demand for statehood, search engine optimization