Lessons Learned
Saaaaay. It suddenly feels a bit crowded in here, doesn’t it? I like it. 
I wanted to jot down a few things I learned in writing yesterday’s post and reading all of the comments you (yes, you!) were so kind to leave. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know a post like that would bring some lurkers out of lurking, and I absolutely feel a bit sheepish having basically begged for some attention. I will say, though, that although fishing for compliments is maybe not the best way to go about feeling better on a regular basis, it sure as hell helped when I really needed it. I’m glad I ignored my own eye-rolling and pressed Publish.
Some lessons:
1. If you need attention, it’s okay to ask for it once in a while.
2. I have awesome–if mostly silent!–readers.
3. I neglected my work and chores and even a little bit my baby yesterday and NOBODY DIED. Of course, “Well, nobody died” can not serve as a catch-all excuse when we’re talking about living a successful and employed life on the reg, but for one day? It’ll do, pig. Apparently I needed the break.
4. Back when I fancied myself a writer who would one day author a book (we’re talking back in college), I always said I’d be SO EMBARRASSED if my work ever ended up on the NYT Bestsellers List. Everyone knows that that stuff–James Patterson, Dick Francis, Sue Grafton, anyone else who puts out a book a year–is trash, and I (pulling away my monocle so as to look you directly in the eyes) was committed to producing nothing short of Fine Litterechaaa. I would write the type of thing that would be far above the reading comprehension of the masses. (I was an ass.) Fast-forward to my online writing days, and we have the equivalent of bestsellers here too. I made my peace with never being a Big Blogger many, many moons ago, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t chap my hide when I see the Big category overlapping with the Poor Quality category. (It’s an act of intolerable pride that I think I can be the judge of such things, but I suppose a little judging here and there is human nature.) And yet, as with anything (and books in particular, actually), it’s obviously not quality that makes a bestseller but instead some magical quality so slippery that I had to make up a word for it–appealability–which a lot of the time defies logic. Bestsellers simply are books a lot of people like, for better or for worse (I’m looking at you, Twilight), and the same is true for popular blogs and blogs that get a lot of comments (which aren’t even always the same thing). Many bestsellers frequently aren’t even masquerading as quality; they just are what they are and people like them (or not), for whatever that is. That said, there are also some really freaking great books on the bestseller list, and now that I’m who I am and where I am, I wouldn’t be embarrassed for one millisecond to have a book tagged with that copy line given that I also felt it was my best work. I give my best work here if not every time than the majority of the time, and so for now, while I’m still feeling a bit fragile (although much less so than yesterday, thank you), I’m going to pretend I’m nineteen-year-old-pompous again and say that the fact that I don’t get a ton of comments and accolades means I’m not appealing to the Honey Boo-Boo masses but to a smaller section of people who have tastes perfectly suited to what I produce. You appreciate my litterechaaaa, you fancy people, you.
5. As I was about halfway through responding to comments on the last post, I thought, “Hmm, maybe I should be responding privately over email instead because surely *someone* out there is scoffing at me for making an even bigger deal out of my insecurities.” Then I told the Mustn’ts, Dont’s, and Shouldn’ts to go fuck themselves.
6. I got out all the Christmas piano music for the manic sing-alongs in our near future, and I discovered the most wonderful thing: Fox will sit quietly in his rocking chair while I play. The best part is that I get a break from my clingy baby, but the hippy-dippy side-effect is that I feel like I’m doing something for ME that doesn’t also occur in a format by which I can measure my worth by traffic stats. Our piano takes up a giant footprint of space in our house and is one of the best gifts Simon ever game me and I don’t play it as much as I should and I think that oversight ends NOW. New Year’s resolution time?
7. Metablogging out! THANK YOU, sincerely, for not just reading but listening.
Babe reference for the win.
(How’s that for high-minded comment?
Dude, people who get my dumb references are worth their weight in gold.
I wish all the time for more comments and followers on instagram, but I totally don’t want to be someone with 94,000 followers with hundreds of fake comments from people I don’t know (you know the ones that are just sucking up) or 200 likes within 1 minute just because that’s the popular thing to do. I like having comments and likes still mean something, and keeping up with a set of “friends”.
Word. I sometimes wish I had the opportunities (or the MONEY) of the Big Bloggers, but no way would I ever want tens of thousands of followers. So much drama and negativity and false enthusiasm comes with that gig, I’d have to spend half of my earnings on therapy to get through it. I like my small community better (even though I wish sometimes they’d be a little more vocal).
I commented on the previous post just now but, for some reason, the comment is not showing up. So I am commenting on this one too to let you know that I LOVE your blog, I think you and your family are wonderful, and I read every single post. I seldom comment because I am scared to do it. I promise this will change since I now know that you appreciate comments. I follow you on Twitter too (I am new to it) and will read all your posts to other websites, if you link to them. I thought your DYI snow globe is a very clever idea and almost commented on it that I should try to make one with my son.
If I read your posts on Reader, will that show up on your site stats? Don’t know how these things work since I don’t have a blog.
Your comment came through! And I think I’m following you on Twitter? If not, let me know and I’ll follow back.
I’m glad that you got all that love yesterday. As you said, sometimes, those days are just desperately needed.
And I agree with Catherine. Babe reference for the win.
I’m glad I got it too. And I’m proud of myself for asking for it. It’s not always easy to do, especially in such a public forum.
Appealability is the PERFECT word for what you describe and I’ve longed since believed what you so eloquently wrote.
And hey, I always thought I was fancy! So thanks for the vote of confidence!
Video of Fox enjoying your piano, PLEASE.
Yay! Fancy ladies FTW!
Isn’t it weird how hard it is to ask for what we need, and then POOF! there it is. This is a lesson I’m still learning.
And, good job, little Fox, on letting mama do something good for her. Good job, little dude,
I imagine this is a lesson I’ll keep learning over and over, but damn if it doesn’t turn out well most of the time.
This is a powerful conversation. I read your blog most everyday and love it! I’ve been reflecting on stats, “vanity metrics”, and communications as we shift into the smartphone world where people will read more often and comment/like less. It’s an interesting changing in email, blogs, and social media. Just curious to watch how it goes. Thank you for opening up, for being tender, and for inviting us in!
And thank you for joining the conversation. It’s complicated, this online living, and it’s important for us all to remember that it’s still in its infancy and all of us are still trying to figure it out!
Hi. I love reading your blog and I am having some kind of technical difficulties. Ever since you switched things over it hasn’t been showing up in my reader. I keep trying to re-subscribe and it won’t let me. This means that I forget for a while, then I realize that I’m missing hearing from you and turn into some weirdo that checks for new posts a whole bunch, then I back off because I feel crazy, repeat. Help me?
Erica! You’re one of The Lost! Unsubscribe to the old feed, then resubscribe to http://www.agirlandaboy.com/journal/feed. That should do it. Let me know if it doesn’t work and I’ll…I don’t know, contact a wizard or something? I have no idea how this stuff works. Fingers crossed!
So, I wanted to comment on your last post, but had no time to put together a coherent comment (2 kids, dinnertime, you know how it goes). BUT. I read your blog, I really like your blog, and I’ve never stopped reading since I stumbled upon it 4 years ago (probably while breastfeeding). I read a bunch of blogs on and off, and I’m not the commenter type, and yours is the only blog that have ever driven me to comment ever before (once, maybe twice). And now let’s see how many more times I can write ‘comment’ into this comment. Comment, comment, comment. See, this is why I don’t comment.
Anyway, I think for some people (me, people like me) commenting feels kind of like “HI! I’m a complete and total stranger and you have no idea who I am but here’s what I have to say”, and that feels weird. So we just read and enjoy. And I obviously think your theory about appealing to a smaller section of fancier and more quality-oriented people is completely correct.
It’s so helpful to have the perspective of non-blogging readers, since I’ve obviously never been one of those. I get why it might feel strange to pop in and start talking about yourself in someone else’s comment section when they have no idea who you are, but more to the point, I sometimes forget that there are people out there who don’t have this overwhelming desire to share their thoughts with the entire world like the rest of us weirdos. Great comment.
I’m a lot like the previous commenter AC–I love your blog, read it every day and think your family is fantastic–I just don’t comment often. (Though I most definitely commented on your Tiny Prints giveaway post because I am more than a little obsessed with their stationery products, but I digress.)
And like commenter Line said, commenting sometimes feels weird, like I’m going to come across as some wacko who is stalking your adorable family. I relate with so much of your writing, so I feel like my comments will come across as “Me too, me too!” and then you’ll think “Who IS this nut?!” At least that’s the conversation that runs through my head whenever I think about commenting! Next time, I’ll silence that little voice and comment away!
Definitely silence that little voice. “Me too!” is the comment I think most bloggers want to hear. We want to know that we’re not alone, that what we’re saying strikes a chord. The “me too” comments are just as important as all the rest, for real.
Ok, since I was talking to you on twitter yesterday about whether your feed was working, and then I didn’t get to comment because I was out of town and couldn’t on my phone and blah blah blah, I just want you to know I am waving my hands frantically and saying hi! I read! I like you! My lack of comments in no way reflects my lack of rosy feelings! It mostly reflects my lack of computer, or my kid yelling at me, or not having anything that feels valuable to say. But oh, I’m glad you wrote all that yesterday, and published it, and that I got to read it. I did a lot of nodding. And as a new kid, one who was reading blogs forever and ever but didn’t do much in the way of participating, I still get kind of shy sometimes. Especially around bigger bloggers (of whom you are one! Perspective, it is interesting.). So, anyways, hi!
Hi! I think you’re great! And HELLO, I need to be better about commenting on your blog too!