When I used to blog – and I was fairly good at it – I would write first thing in the morning, and then check on the blog a couple of times per day, harvesting the comments like plump, juicy red tomatoes in the afternoon sun. I would respond to the comments, being oh, so pleased with myself.
When I was a little girl, we had a garden in the backyard. In late July and August, I would be responsible for picking the tomatoes. I would travel down each row, looking for the bright red treasures, sometimes exposed for all to see and sometimes hidden under two well-placed leaves. That is really what I enjoyed about the summer; finding the gifts, either easily spotted or well-hidden. The comments I would pick were so similar. I knew I could count on Deb, on Grant, on Ian, on some others to write comments. And then there would be occasional readers, unique readers, just different readers commenting on my words.
Now it is different. I write in the morning, and I read a few blogs after I write. I do this perhaps three times per week, knowing that I need to read others' writing to feel more connected. Instead of taking several hours per day, paid for by my employer, I now spend about 30 minutes three days per week. I still get to do all of the things I normally do, and then three times per week, I get to write a bit.
I am having my cake and eating it too, I suppose. Comments and tomatoes. No mention of cake.
Guest post: Bryan Reardon, author of FINDING JAKE
21 minutes ago