“Never blog about yourself,” I read.
I shrug, concede to experience, and make mental notes. I open another website.
“Keep your blog as personal as possible. Endear your readers to your individuality.”
Confusion begins to slow my already dull brain, and I counter it by clicking another link. “Only blog about things your target market can relate to.”
At this point I’ve reached for my forehead and am working my fingers into the growing tension, all the while trying to scrape together a list of common interests I share with my readers. Is it wrong that the only thing I can come up with is “penis?”
“Easy, there,” I tell myself. “Save the penis blogs for the porn stars.” And I scratch it off the list and try to ease the frown off my face before the encroaching crow’s-lines get any deeper.
“New site,” I say, pointing at my monitor. (Which is my way of getting the computer to look me in the eye, focus on what I’m saying, and take me seriously. It has yet to prove successful.)
“Authors should blog for other authors and publishers,” the next purveyor of wisdom tells me.
I flail silently, albeit physically, as I try to grasp the idea because, I mean … isn’t it the reader that I’m trying to communicate with?
Okay,” I growl. “Next site.”
“Some authors have two blogs,” the following one tells me. “One for readers and another one for writers.”
I huff at the text on my monitor, start to mumble something about “trying to keep enough time during the day to actually write novels” and start scrolling through Google with enough fury to do damage to my mouse.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, I think happily, when I see the “Do I Really Even Need a Blog?” link. Apparently, I do not.
Unless of course I click any of the other four hundred sites that insist that I do.
I resist the urge to dig into the posted “don’t” lists. For all of about four seconds. When I start to see words like “musing, ranting,” and “self-depreciation” on said list, I admit to gritting my teeth. Don’t these people realise that’s what I do well for goodness sake? I mean, seriously, if the writing of self-depreciating musing rants could be made into a career … boy, oh boy, I’d be doing all right …
I close the search engine.
I decide to go to the gym instead.