Two Years a Blogger: Lessons Learnt (Alternatively, the “I Still Have a Blog” Speech)

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for blogging in the history of our nation.

Two years ago, Mushroom Sup, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, successfully clicked on the “Create A Blog” button on WordPress. This presented Problem Number One, which she had never anticipated: what to post? Banging her fist on the keyboard repeatedly for 53 minutes did not produce the results she had hoped for, so she adopted a different strategy: writing a post using only the “w” key, and the “increase brightness” key.

Lesson #1: When the closest you come to being a writer is Writer’s Block: More often than not, I’ve sat down at my laptop with no idea what to write about. The Lucky Ones have inspiration at their disposal, but me, panic is more my thing (“I can’t let this blog die. Where else will I get notifications telling me that I’m pretty awesome?”). My first go-to is to think of random words. Socks. What’s up with socks, right? Warm and smelly. What else is smelly? What are my opinions on body odor? The train of thought is slow, and it breaks down a lot (“I should go out and buy a new deodorant, I don’t want to smell like socks”) but it gets there eventually. Conversely, I think of the last good, bad, funny, horrific or mildly emotional experience that I had and blow it out of proportion. Or I look at the news (same thing). Anyway, I try to be funny by forming a strong opinion on the chosen experience/ news article and defending it till I’m blue in the face, using fabricated facts and words that I don’t know the meaning of. If you don’t want to write humor, you could do the same thing but with real facts and real words (thank me later).

It worked. Mushroom Sup conclusively proved the Infinite Monkey Theorem, and what she produced was even better than the complete works of William Shakespeare. It actually made sense. Relatively speaking. The only problem was, it was just as long as his works, too.

Lesson #2: A Blog is Not a Book: Brevity is virtue. Short Sentences. Short Posts. Long posts = bored people (apologies for generalization). DOWN WITH DEFINITE ARTICLES.

As her devoted fan base grew wider to include spammers, in addition to her mother, she grew braver. Post by post, slowly but surely, she expanded her horizons. One year later, she had written a post using all – ALL – 26 letters of the alphabet, numbers from 1 to 7 and the “mute” key. This was a genius move. She achieved every blogger’s dream: REAL-PEOPLE-FOLLOWERS.

Lesson #3: We are Family: I am privileged to be part of this beautiful WordPress community. I want to read, like and comment on every post in my sundry Reader but I always fall short of this. I’ve made up my mind to consciously make time to read and like posts from the magnificent blogs I follow. Additionally, other blogs are a wonderful place to find that much-needed inspiration (I promise I’m not advocating plagiarism).

But even though Mushroom Sup’s name is Mushroom Sup, it wasn’t all highs. The only other thing Mushroom Sup had been able to sustain over a period of two years was bad grades in Math. Like in Math, she often considered giving up. Moments of existentialism, desperation and hunger overcame her as she thought to herself, “Why am I doing this when I could be eating a donut instead?”

Lesson #4: Keep at it: You’ll have dry spells. There’ll be days, especially in the beginning, when your ego reserve is as empty as your inbox. But never stop. Love what your write. Be in love with what you write. Nobody laughs at my own posts more than me – my mother has pointed this out many times. And one day, who knows, you’ll be Freshly Pressed, and you’ll be Meryl Streep.

And this, dear friends, countrymen and lend-me-your-ears, is what Mushroom Sup learnt in her miraculous journey from amateur (and immature) blogger to the great beacon light of hope to millions of WordPress spammers.

I am the joyous daybreak to end your long night of captivity.

Good morning.

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