When I began blogging, I thought it would inspire me to finish my novel. To stretch and strengthen my creative chords, to give and receive literary and mainstream thinking — to finish what I’ve been writing and not writing for the past few years.
It has turned into something that takes a great deal of time. Hubby constantly asks me, “When’s the last time you worked on your book?” I look at him and say defensively, “ I have to answer these comments and I have to go comment on other’s blogs and I have to write these bios this week and I have to….” I run out of steam because really, they’re just excuses. I’ve become quite adept at coming up with them.
In order to write something, ANYTHING creative, I decided to write a little blogger’s tale. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, but if you find yourself in there, it’s no one’s fault but your own. You’ve liked me, commented on my blog and I’ve commented on yours. I guess you can say your blog and you have inspired me. If you’re not in there, it’s just because I don’t “know” you that well yet or I’ve not heard from you in awhile. If you don’t follow or know about these blogs, this will probably be confusing to you. Apologies in advance if so.
Let’s call this magical realism, with a bit of fantasy thrown in, ‘cause after all we’re all real people inside a collective thing we call the blogosphere, blogging world or somewhere “out there.”
(My blogger’s tale was inspired by Maggie and Madame Weebles, the latter writing recently about writer’s block). I need to work on dialogue, so there’s plenty of that below. Please read, comment, give me your critiques. I can take it. I’m not scared. Well I’m a little scared. And sensitive.
A Bloggers Tale
Once upon a time there were several bloggers. They came from all walks of life, all over the planet, each having a unique style and tone. Some of them were funny, some poetic and writerly and others fiercely opinionated. But, all of them shared the same thing: They inspired someone at some time with what they had to say. They had the followers to prove it.
Bianca, who liked to think of herself as a diplomatic and kind individual led the group on this day (she could only do this in the blogging world, since she sucked at public speaking, terrified of talking in front of groups and often hyperventilated when forced to do so). But not here. Not on this day.
“I’ve brought you all here today to comment on each other’s blogs. Let’s begin with a positive affirmation — let’s find the best thing about each other’s blogs before we critique. With my Blatherings, people have come to expect that from me, I think.” Bianca stood there with a benevolent smile on her face.
“Oh God, here we go. You write one freakin’ blog on blogging, get Freshly-Pressed and all of sudden you think you’re the guru for nice blogging,” Megan, someone who happened to be there, among the bloggers said to the others.
She’d just returned from running in tony neighborhoods and had been forced out of one of them for flashing someone. “I got wine, everyone!” Megan poured herself a big glass and began passing it around. She wiped sweat off her toned arms and pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail.
Sir Sweak turned his cap around on his head so that the bill faced the back and said, “You know there’s something swell about all this and something lame…if you ask me… and I know about this because I’ve been Freshly Pressed three times, what’s swell is….”
“I believe we have a blogger under 21 here, Megan,” Bianca interrupted. She gestured toward a sweet, young woman whose blogs were about traveling, school and such.
“Hi,” Evie said. “Nice to meet everyone. I’ve been traveling and my posts have been brief, but I’ll…”
“It’s blogging wine, not the real stuff, for God’s sake, Bianca, lighten up!” Megan dug glasses out of a bag and passed them out.
I may be a crazy chick, but I’d rather have a gin and tonic,” JT said and started singing, just like the white-winged dove…
“Feckin’ pass it over here. Did my blog suck today? I hope so because I got Freshly-Pressed after I wrote about it sucking. Where’s my Lovesy? Saucy Minx looked around and then dropped down into a downward facing dog pose.
“The view looks pretty good from here,” Micky said to Saucy. He walked around, never quite settling or sitting, he had a tendency to roam about.
“I will take you down, Mickey if you say something like that again. I don’t play on your team brother.” Saucy stretched up to a tree pose, glaring at him. “If I don’t do my yoga poses, I’m going punch someone. I’m an a-hole avenger.” She brought her hands together in front of her chest, as if in prayer, and looked heavenward.
“I’m taking notes here to rewrite this into one of the chapters I’m writing,” Ruby said. “I can’t decide if I want it to be first-person, third-person omniscient or second person. With my novel coming out in the fall I want to…” She turned her head and glared at her nemesis, a nasty piece of work that only she could see and hear.
“Why not go with first-person plural? I thought I’d pop in and see if anyone wanted to do a guest post,” a fair-haired lady with a British accent said. “No? Well, not to worry, I’ve got loads of guests on my blog!” She began scanning her blog for comments on her latest guest post, her brightly painted nails, making a click-click sound as she tapped keys.
“That may be just the write transition,” Ruby said, thanking the fair-haired lady.
“I’m from Ala-freakin-bama! Why don’t you summon up the strength to make a decision? Trust me, I know about obstacles, “ a newbie to Bianca’s Blatherings and Diane Lane look-alike said.
“I’ve never been to Alabama. I think I’d like it. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll write a poem about it…write now,” an elegant, soft-spoken lady from Ireland said as she pulled out a notebook and began writing.
Suddenly, a Mysterious madame swept into the room. She wore an 18th century ballgown and cape and a gray cat with glowing eyes sat on her shoulder. She looked at everyone, drew an antique fountain pen out of corseted bosom, flicked the nib with her tongue and began scribbling in a leather-bound, ancient notebook.
“I’m here to figure out who’s the hottest blogger,” Mysterious said.
“I thought you only saw hot dead guys,” someone yelled out. “And chicks,” this from another.
Mysterious scanned the blogosphere trying to figure out where those comments came from. She raised one eyebrow and her gray cat, raised a paw, claws extended and hissed.
“Okay, let’s begin again. How about we all smile and start over?” Bianca suggested and reminded everyone to comment and follow, comment and follow.
“SHUT UP,” all the bloggers yelled in unison.
How did everything get out of control? Bianca took a deep breath and tried a different tactic. This was becoming an unruly group and she just knew if could come up with something inspirational, all would be well.
“I know, let’s decide on a theme song to christen those of us gathered here.” Bianca looked at all the bloggers and waited for suggestions. Everyone ignored her, not commenting, not liking and talking amongst themselves. I know just the song, she thought to herself.
“How about Everything is Beautiful?” Bianca sang a few bars, her smile fading as everyone stared.
“What is this, the Mickey-Mouse Club?”
“What are we 12 years old?”
“Why do we have to have a feckin’ song anyway?”
“Who’s the hottest dead musician/singer out there? Let’s go with that one.”
The bloggers continued with their comments and after a few likes and dislikes came to a mutual understanding, agreement and respect for one another and all their differences of opinions. And the blogosphere noted this and said that it was good.
They all blogged happily ever after.
(Push play below to hear the theme song they decided to go with.)