YEY! I had a fun day filled with stuff I like (books, fairy crowns, goofy-ass tshirts, chocolate cake, pumpkin lattes) and people I love. All in all, a wonderful birthday. Thank you, Cousin ‘O Love (can you please get a blog so I can link to it!) for the yummy dinner and the sweet toast and Goddaughter ‘O Love for faboo cake, card and joyfulness.
So, this is all true.
Why can’t I write like this chick? I shouldn’t be envious but I am. My stuff is crap blather and her stuff is tight and snarky. Ah, we all have dreams, right? One day, when I grow up, I want to write like Heather Armstrong.
My luck, I will be on the moon with Steve.
Today is dinner at Buca di Beppo for amazingly awesome Italian food. I shall waddle home and then vow to do better the next day (while snarfing what remains of that tremendous devil’s food cake).
(expect post soon about not being able to fit in my clothes, mmmmkay?)
I don’t care about hits at all. I’m just saying that I like the way that person writes and what she says. If no one but me read my page, well, it would be a bummer but it’s not at all my main reason for posting.
Alas, there is no relationship between the quality of your writing and your material and how many hits you can get. I like to think my blog is pretty well written and it averages perhaps a hundred hits a day. But almost all of it is through search engines.
But my wife’s Live Journal routinely gets a dozen or more comments to each and every little thing she decides to post there, all from her established friends in the Slash community.
I feel like Don Quixote sometimes, tilting at windmills trying to put together a thoughtful, well written blog entry.