Blogging, my friends, is not an exact science. It's more of an art. But like a weird sort of art. Like the kind you'd accidentally sit on if you weren't paying attention.
And every blogger (or excuse me, ARTIST) approaches their craft in a different way. Some work in the wee hours of the morning, others in the way more fun hours of the night. Some do it as a hobby, some do it professionally, and others do it to complain about their estranged family members or to share erotic Harry Potter fan fiction or whatever. Blogging is a diverse game, y'all.
And since I find it so compelling to learn how my fellow artists work, I thought it might be interesting to give you a glimpse into my own blogging process. If you've ever wanted to know how the sausage gets made here at Avoiding Atrophy, here's a step-by-step account of how blogging usually goes for me:
And every blogger (or excuse me, ARTIST) approaches their craft in a different way. Some work in the wee hours of the morning, others in the way more fun hours of the night. Some do it as a hobby, some do it professionally, and others do it to complain about their estranged family members or to share erotic Harry Potter fan fiction or whatever. Blogging is a diverse game, y'all.
And since I find it so compelling to learn how my fellow artists work, I thought it might be interesting to give you a glimpse into my own blogging process. If you've ever wanted to know how the sausage gets made here at Avoiding Atrophy, here's a step-by-step account of how blogging usually goes for me:
I sit down at my laptop with a half-idea for a blog post.
I am very excited.
This is going to be good.
I am very excited.
This is going to be good.
I write two words.
I delete those two words.
Then I write one word.
Then I give myself a much-deserved break.
I consume anywhere from two to seven small pickles.
Then I return to my desk, heave a labored sigh, and write, like, six more words.
I think to myself, hey, I'm getting the hang of this.
Then I delete everything. All of it. All seven words.
I write eight words.
Then nine more.
Suddenly, I've got a paragraph.
I copy that paragraph and paste it into a Word Document.
At this point, I'm pretty sure I don't want to use this paragraph in the blog post, but I want to have it around just in case. I mean, after all, I put all that work into it.
I am back to zero words.
I stare at the blank page.
I write a title, which I will inevitably change later.
I stare at the blank page.
I write a title, which I will inevitably change later.
I pat myself on the back for being so prepared.
After this, I take some time to feel guilty about my lack of self-control.
Then I eat two more pickles, and I write 300 words.
I am invincible.
I am a blogging machine.
I read through my 300 words, and suddenly I am overcome with the feeling that I am reading the ramblings of a madwoman.
I delete 50 words.
I press Command-Z, which restores those 50 words.
I delete them again.
I make some kind of frustrated noise like, "Eeruuggh" or "Yeesh" and I press Command-Z again.
Pickle.
Pickle.
I spend an hour looking through iPhoto, reminiscing about old times.
Ohmuhgorsh look it's Frasier when he was a kittennnnn.
I decide to go look for Frasier.
Not Kelsey Grammer. My cat, Frasier.
Not Kelsey Grammer. My cat, Frasier.
I set him down in my lap.
He runs away.
He runs away.
I pick him up again.
He bites my hand.
He bites my hand.
Truly, I am alone.
I insert some photos.
I write 100 words.
Delete, Command-Z, Delete.
100 more words.
This blog post is too long.
I write 200 more words.
I've finished...maybe?
I read through everything.
I read it again.
I read it again.
I read it out loud.
I read it out loud, but louder this time.
I hit publish.
I go back and read it again.
I discover 50 typos.
I quit the Internet.
