A blog is best defined by the individual blogger, methinks. But one thing is certain—if there is no dialogue between bloguettes and bloggees, than we have a virtual room filled to the brim of people muttering to themselves, sadly and inevitably, centered round one topic.
Oh yes, I will be the first to admit that I find myself shrugging up against one of the four virtual walls and scratching my hair into a hornet’s nest of waves while I wonder if I have chosen the right topic, the right audience, and if my work is flowing naturally from my head to my fingers to my Microsoft word-pad.
Dr. Ottery was right. We must be commenting on blackboard in online classes, but also on fellow blogger’s sites, for fear of death by monologue. Or, in the least, to inform others on when they’ve hot a niche worth writing on.
Feedback, both a fun and tricky affair I have in workshops. My pops went into a speal, comparing blogging to fourth-grade-level writing. He’s correct—sort of. I then tried to explain the free writing form of blogging which did not go over well, to my dismay.
Oh. I must also tell you I am now (ahem) 2-5. yuck.
And I’ve been dizzy and nauseous as of late (err..Birthday of a Cinderella Year = limited posting). I apologize and intend to mend this. I know, blog world. I picture myself in the worst-type-of-lover category (ever). My blog is quite the lady, so I have naturally taken on the bf role and boy do i ne-glect her! She is just so demanding, what with her woman problems and needing coddled twenty four horas a day. She craves to be texted to sweetly, adorned with love letters and poetry every evening, and (most of all) if I don’t do all these and more, she’ll find solace somewhere else.
Oh, how her hair drips in layers, draping every curve. Clingy as all get out. And I tell you, I’m just sick in the head over it. I tell you!
