In spite of having written 3446 blogs since I began in
January 2006 I don’t consider myself a writer. In fact I can make a list of
that which I know and have known:
1. I have never wanted to own a motorcycle or a scooter.
2. I have never been tempted to either grow a beard or a
moustache.
3. I have never wanted to own a gun.
4. I don’t plan to write a novel or a biography.
Medium a blogging platform to which I belong has advanced statistics. They are able to tell you how long it will take to read any blog in specific minutes. Based on that algorithm I will know that a particular blog of mine that might have been seen by 50 was read by 5.
I recently wrote an obituary on photographer Mary Ellen
Mark. I posted my blog and when I re-posted it with a link to Facebook I
clearly began it with "Photograph by Mary Ellen Mark.". Upon clicking on the link
(the very few who might have been inclined) they would have known that Mark’s
photograph had been taken in Seattle as I wrote so. There were plenty of
Facebook “I like your photo (not mine).” One person suggested the photograph
had been perhaps taken in Seattle.
You don’t have to delve into Medium.com stats to know
that people don’t read and that social media (specifically facebook) is for
viewers.
From the very beginning with my blog I eschewed allowing people to comment. There are too many nasty people and crazies out there with lots of spare time. I have repeatedly written that the purpose of my blog is to clear my head, to defragment my memory and perhaps share some of my life’s experiences with friends and family.
But sometimes (not regularly I must add) I feel that this
blogging is one very large waste of time.
I am enclosing here one slightly racy photograph but
unless you read up to here you will not know it is there.
How much fun!
