The futility of my writing

The futility of my writing

Stipula_fountain_pen.jpg

A little over two years ago, I started this blog on a whim. The decision came out of a love for writing and a desire to keep a blog going longer than a few months. So, in order to fulfill that commitment, I shelled out a good chunk of change to host a site. It wasn't anything fancy, and it still isn't, but the expectancy was to have something simple enough for anyone to navigate and read. This blog ended up being a last-ditch effort for my dreams in becoming a relevant blogger. I figured, at the very least, it'd be a good resume builder. I wasn't doing any harm by writing. Maybe one of my posts might even go viral. Except none of that happened. Of the multitude of pieces I've written, over the course of the past two years, none have really catapulted me into anything more than I was. Each post I made always seemed like "the one." The belief was that, eventually, one of my pieces will garner an audience large enough to put me into the limelight. That post never came. The ambition was still there, shining with every new idea, though noticeably dimmer with every word typed that went unseen.

People often come up and tell me that my blog is good, that I'm a fantastic writer. They note the little humor-filled jargon I like to incorporate or the validity of my opinions. But that's usually all it usually is: a random click on a boring day spent on Facebook. For all the encouragement I receive, it never seems enough to really satisfy what I want this blog to become. My ideas weren't shaping the world and the typical reader went along without giving it much thought.

I find myself trapped in the wrong time period - an era where ideas and thoughts exist in an unfiltered, saturated market. The emergence of technology has made publishing so much easier but gaining recognition a thousand times over more difficult. I write in a world where reading has become an art rather than a norm and writing has become something anyone can do, whether absent of quality or lacking in thought.

Yeah, it sucks that most of the things I write are rather fruitless but it's something I love, so what can I do about that? That's what a passion really is: loving something so much that being unable to share it actually hurts. I often look at the things I write in sadness. The skill I have has little to no value in the current world and that's the worst feeling, especially when there's a legitimate love for it.

There are a lot of things I could have done better, like advertising my blog. I guess I always figured that my writing was good enough to be noticed without having to do any of that. It was an awkward combination of humility and pride. If my blog didn't get a lot of views, my writing and ideas probably weren't good enough. At the same time, I had such confidence in the things I published that I readily assumed my friends and other people would share my blog.

Still, I went through so many different methods to promote my blog. I wrote for the school newspaper for a semester, in hopes of somehow evolving my blog and maybe getting it an audience somehow; that didn't work out. In consideration to people's schedule, I posted links to my blog during different times of the day. I switched from topic to topic, trying to find one that sat well with the audience. The description I posted varied in language to hype up the blog. I even tried adding featured images. Nothing ever resulted in anything remotely consistent.

I've wanted to quit many times. When my hosting ran out, I debated whether it was still worth the money to keep everything functioning. Maybe I should switch to a free blog since hosting wasn't getting me anywhere. At other times, I itch to write but lack the words and inspiration to generate something I find worthy of posting. Today, my blog lives on a lifeline, begging for another chance that's probably not coming. It's hard not to focus on the dwindling number of readers.

In my first ever blog post, I wrote, in referencing why I write, "it's been a huge battle between passion and success." I can't find that any less true. Success has been winning recently and it's not something I particularly enjoy feeling. I don't know if it'll ever change; the hope is that it will but it's not something I expect to hold onto any longer.

Not everyone can be Shakespeare.

The night we almost fell in love

The night we almost fell in love

Fated Love

Fated Love