MONDAY: Happy, happy day. Check all statistical information on the blog. Follower numbers, Clustrmaps, Google Analytics, StatCounter, SiteMeter, MyBlogLog, BigBrotherIsWatching, ILoveMyBlogYouShouldToo, IfYouUnfollowMeIWillTrackYouDown, etc. Chart, graph and analyse everything, so I know exactly what new traffic came to me last week. Where they came from, what they looked at, how long they stayed, what connections they have and how much money they have in off-shore bank accounts. Amazing what you can find out these days.
Negotiate new deal with blog sponsor. Offer to review products positively in exchange for cash, vouchers and advertising my blog. Sure, I can review the new strollers and pushchairs. What? I need to have a baby? Search for new sponsor.
Send out 127 emails offering advertising space to new clients. Tell them to Google me and see how popular I am.
Change header in an attempt to be modern and fresh. Change it back when I reflect that I am a ‘brand’ and shouldn’t confuse people. Change it back and forth at least 17 times. Decide to leave it; my people love my blog no matter how it looks. Get nervous about that decision. Change it again.
Add a black and white photo of myself that makes me look cool and sexy. Delete the photo when I realise it makes me look old and grainy.
Fiddle with fonts and colours for a while, try to get that “LOOK AT ME” thing happening. Give up when I notice the psychedelic look I choose gives the dog seizures.
Stay up past midnight obsessing about getting my blog to fit my personality, and past 1am when I decide my personality doesn’t matter, it’s all about what sells.
Collapse into bed knowing I’ve done all I can to please my audience and push my product, secure in the knowledge that the post I have scheduled to publish in the morning will generate immense interest, and more importantly, bring me the blog love.
TUESDAY: Wake up in a panic at 5.47am when it dawns on me that in my fixation with my blog’s presentation, I didn’t even write a blog post. Stumble to laptop. I can do this, I am an awesome writer. Blank. Panic. I post every Tuesday morning, my public expect it. There’ll be an outcry if I don’t. They’ll be wondering what’s happened to me, terrified that I’m ill, dead, or worse; that I’ve lost my touch.
Send message to my Blog Publicity Guru, namely Lois, the butcher’s assistant from Phoenix whom I met on Twitter, who didn’t finish high school but adores my blogs, so she must be intelligent. And her fifth (and current as at Friday) husband drives an icecream van; he’s a man of the world, he'll help. Throw ideas for blog subjects at her and wait for her response.
“No honey, do NOT write yet another post about Twitter, it’s been around for years now and has been hacked to death, a bit like this carcass I’m leanin’ on. You done seven of ‘em already. Etiquette, followers, spammers, stalkers, the pros, the cons, a funny twist or a serious one; trust me babydoll, Twitter’s been blogged about. Unless you’re changin’ your blog to one o’ them Social Media Columns? No, I didn’t think so. Don’t do it. As my first husband, may he rest in peace, used to say whenever anyone stared at his incredibly large genitalia package, “You can mention it, but don’t harp on about it, it just gets embarrassin' for all concerned.””
Sob. “What then?”
“Darlin, what did you do on the weekend? Write about that. I have to get back to work, the boss wants me to handle his sausage meat today. And I mean that in every way you’re thinkin’.”
What DID I do all weekend? I saw a movie, read a book, and was fixated on my blog for the rest of the time. A book and movie review then. Type. Fast. Choose catchy title, relevance to post unimportant. Do what sells. Publish by 7.15am.
Sit back and wait for the accolades.
Check comments after 15 minutes. Frown. Post link to blog on Facebook and Twitter. Sit back and wait for the accolades. Google myself while waiting.
Check comments after another 15 minutes. Frown. Check to see if ‘Comments’ section is working on the blog. Frown.
Sigh. Go back on Twitter and send blog link to regular followers. Reliable people who never let me down. People with nothing better to do. Sit back and wait for the accolades.
Check comments after another 15 minutes. Yes. 2 comments. Smile. Bask in the glow of knowledge that I am loved and well-respected by my followers. Lois and her husband have not let me down.
Monitor progress throughout the day. Mutter reaffirming chants.
I am a great blogger. My fans love me. I am a great blogger. My fans love me.
WEDNESDAY: Ignore breakfast, hot shower and toothbrush. Blog is more important. Check statistics.
Not bad, 41 visits, could be better. If there had been boobs in the movie or book and I could’ve mentioned them, it would have cracked at least 50. Make note to exaggerate and falsify facts next time.
Check comments. What? Only 9? Check Twitter. What? Only 2 retweets and 2 mentions?
That’s a Blog Love Ratio of only 31.707%. Frown.
Go on Twitter and post link again. Do what sells. Engage in conversation with people who have commented in the past, whether I like them or not. Remember, personality doesn’t matter, statistics do. Drop hints. Mention I saw a movie and read a book. “What did I think of them? Well go read my blog and find out. Here’s the link. Leave a comment and please retweet if enjoyed.”
Get off Twitter when the blog has received several responses. Do not saturate the marketplace yet. Save that for tomorrow.
Sit back and wait for the accolades. Check comments after 15 minutes. Frown. Accept the fact I will have to go wholesale blog-whoring some time soon.
Note to self: When next on Twitter, remember to retweet other people’s blogs. Reading them first is of course optional. I might read and comment on them later when I have absolutely nothing better to do, but probably not. It’s the sucking up that’s important. They will in turn feel obliged to read and then retweet my blogs, even if they are rubbish, but I’ll get more readers and comments, and that’s what it’s all about.
Check emails. 126 rejections. One offer of advertising from a company which makes female incontinence products.
Consider stealing neighbour's toddler to become a mummy blogger. Dismiss idea when I remember the kid is kinda ugly.
Almost decide to take part in Worthless Wordless Wednesday for attention. Almost.
THURSDAY: Forget how long it’s been since I ate, showered, brushed my teeth or hair. Blog is more important. Check statistics.
More visitors. Reasonable but not giving me a warm glow. Two new followers. Meh.
Check comments. Moan a little. Total is only 14. Check Twitter. A couple of mentions. Blog Love Ratio now stands at only 28.571%. Frown.
Breathe deeply into a brown paper bag. Struggle to remember affirmations.
I am a great love. My fans blogger me. I am a love blogger. My greats fan me.
Debate with inner voices over posting a follow-up blog. Feel desperate need to get back on top of everybody’s blogrolls. Send message to Lois. Search for anti-anxiety medication while waiting for response.
“Lawdy darlin’, please tell me you are not seriously considerin’ doin’ one o’ them rantin’an’ ravin’ pieces about how nobody comments on your blog. Baby, that is a sure fire way to scare off them kind folks who do take the time to suck up. As my second husband, may he rest in peace, used to say when he was my pimp, “You don’t get the bees to the beehive by screamin’ an’ hollerin’ at them, you gotta behave like a Queen and offer up some sweet honey.” Good luck girl, I gotta go, boss wants me to do some meat tastin’. And yes, before you ask.”
Sigh. Do what sells. Change into blog-whoring clothes. Red lace lingerie and black kimono. Ugg boots.
Start reading blogs, and.. *groan*.. leave comments. Drink vodka chasers to steel the nerves.
Try not to cringe every time I write comments like...
“I feel your pain :( ”
“Great pic! Gotta love Wordless Wednesday!”
“Wonderful post about Twitter, I had never heard all that before”
“I know exactly how you feel, my children had pooing-in-public-toilet issues too”
“I agree, your Uncle Gilbert suggesting Naked Charades every time he babysat you was probably inappropriate.”
On extra long posts, just read the first and last paragraphs, and comment on something there. Pray that it makes sense.
Swear loudly every time a word verification is required.
Sit back and wait for the reciprocation. Google myself again.
Check comments after 15 minutes. Squint. Screen is blurry. Check vodka bottle. Empty. Phone somebody. Anybody. Complain that nobody loves me. Hang up when I imagine I hear Lois’ third husband, may he rest in peace, telling me "Girl, it's all about the art. Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self."
Make note to never phone the dead penniless sculptor of play-doh phallic symbols again.
Notice that dog has left me and moved in with ugly toddler's family.
Fall asleep in a drunken stupor.
FRIDAY: Crawl to laptop. Wipe hands on kimono. Wipe tongue on carpet.
Check statistics and comments. Struggle to work out percentages.
Blink hard. 23.5955%. Mutter affirmation.
I blogger my fans am a love great me.
Reach for new bottle of vodka and medication. Send message to Lois.
Don’t even hear the sirens as they approach the house.
Open my eyes to see Lois’ fourth husband, may he rest in peace, standing over me, saying, “Darlin’, as my Lois used to say to me every day of our marriage, right up til the day I was run down by that unidentified icecream van, “Honey, you need to get a life. Preferably some place away from here.””
Any resemblance to bloggers, living or dead, is purely deliberate coincidental.