I’ve told you already that a blogger judges her worth by how many people devour her words of wisdom. That’s why I monitor statistics like the number of bloggers to my site and the number of posts those bloggers have viewed. But I’m most preoccupied with the number of people who follow my blog, i.e., my followers.
I categorize my followers into three groups. First there are The Bullied, people I’ve told about my blog who have no real choice but to follow. Those people include friends and family. To them I’ve said: “Hey, read my blog. It’s funny/a work of art/deep and insightful/a book in the making.” No, I’ve never claimed the blog is bookworthy since I couldn’t write a whole book; I can only think in 500-word segments. (Coincidentally, I can only do therapy in 60-minute hours; overstay your welcome and my mind will wander.) I’d never impose on you by writing lengthy, wandering posts, only short, meandering ones.
Then there are the people who want my money, whom I call The Opportunists. They want to help me improve my writing or they want to sell me something that will certainly change my life, for example, their book, nutritional supplement, exercise program, or yoga retreat. They also may be looking for people to support a crowd funding initiative. The Opportunists are welcome to follow me–the more followers the better–but I haven’t given any of them money yet. I’m not a home-shopping-channel kind of girl.
Finally, there are The Randoms, the people who come across my blog for any number of reasons, some of which aren’t so wholesome, and decide they want to read more. Some Randoms have health issues of their own; for them, I hope the blog provides some comfort and understanding. A girl can hope.
But I’m at a bit of an impasse: In my 22 months of blogging, I’ve amassed 195 followers, which thrills me. 195 people whose inboxes I visit at regular intervals, and who may even read what I send them. But life is about continual striving, so I’m aiming for 200. Would it be too much to ask you to tell a friend or your mother-in-law or your hair dresser about my blog to put me over this threshold?
Forget it. Maybe the answer lies in my own home. In truth, Jelly is my most loyal follower. She traipses around behind me all day, joining me wherever I happen to be. If I’m peeing, she’s licking my toes happily. If I’m showering, she’s in the washroom, chewing on the bone she grabbed to occupy her, grabbing my socks off the counter, or poking her head in the shower. If I’m getting dressed, she’s causing havoc in the bedroom, trying to grab my attention. And if I’m cooking, she’s my loyal sous chef, hoping something will fall on the floor, or jumping on the counter when my back is turned.
Now, if I could just teach Jelly to read, she could help me reach my blogging goal too. On second thought, she may not appreciate all the embarrassing references to her illicit toys. “Oh mommy, how could you tell them that?” There are infinite ways for parents to embarrass their children, aren’t there?