Tag Archives: blogging

A Modern Day Parable of Optimism

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Sunday was a weird day for my husband. He turned 30 amidst speculation that his blogging platform – Tumblr – would be sold to Yahoo!. Don’t for a second think that the irony is lost on either of us. Peace out, twenties.

Here’s how he felt about it:

pretty woman

By Monday afternoon, the deal was done. Tumblr was sold to Yahoo! for $1.1 billion.

Here’s how the Internet felt about it:
fellow kidsI could throw us all a big pity party. I could weep and sigh and gnash my teeth with my husband and hipsters and the Internet in general. But I’m not going to.

You see, this world where Tumblr mates with Yahoo! is also a world that brought Arrested Development back from the dead. Netflix (which is no gem itself but I am willing to forgive it for all its tomfoolery last year) will be airing new episodes on Sunday. This has been a long time coming. Only a few more short days until we can all put our denim cutoffs back on!

So take heart. This world is not all evil. Things find a way of balancing themselves out.

adhappy

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Writing Through It

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At some point, my daily well-being got tied up in writing. I have learned through this weekly exercise of keeping a blog that I feel a lot better when I’m making words. The last time I wrote nearly as much was when I was in school. As a liberal arts student, I wrote papers about literature, literary theory, philosophy, and psychology. Getting some of those papers out – namely the ones about The Pearl, which I only vaguely understood – felt like passing a very large, hard turd (sorry Mom, I know you don’t like me saying that kind of thing). At the end of each week I felt like I had accomplished something, though, even if those papers had no original or succinct thought behind them. I had basically eaten ideas and then let them pass through me. I had nothing new to say about them. Some of my papers were the equivalent of Ex-Lax.

I have had kind of a hard week. I haven’t really wanted to write anything because I’ve been overly-critical of the words I might form even before I said them. While I was out walking with C today, I thought about writing about all the stupid t-shirts I got in Korea. Then my self-loathing kicked in right on cue and I hated myself for even considering the idea of polluting the hallowed ground that is my personal blog with such idiocy. I don’t know who I’m trying to perform for; my scarily serious grad school professors are now putting the fear of Derrida into kids nine years younger than me and I have no reason to try to impress them anymore. I’m now nursing a bit of a headache that may or may not be exacerbated by the ammonia fumes I inhaled when I performed an angry floor mopping after dinner. Don’t mop the floor when you’re already feeling dopey. Do something easier like light dusting. Or eat pita chips and York Pieces.

I am pretty much addicted to this things. Photo credit

I am pretty much addicted to these things. Photo credit

HOWEVER, I’m writing through my malaise. That last sentence? Part of the write-through-it. It’s the roughage. I don’t want to write, but I’m going to and I need to. I’m giving myself a pass on editing my words and judging them too much. Sometimes late at night when I can’t sleep I look at old things I wrote a long time ago. I totally do. Brad Pitt may not watch his own movies but I read my old blog posts because that’s just me. Sometimes I cringe at the things I wrote and I’m not kind to the Emily who wrote them. I’m done with that for today. I’m not here to impress anyone, namely myself. I am just writing because it gives me some leverage on my sanity.

That said, stay tuned for some funny shirts from Korea. They are totally coming.

Beyond Self-Promotion: Some Whys and Hows of Guest Blogging

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Last week, I bought a book. It is the book adaptation of one of my favorite blogs, Lame Adventures. Yours truly – Madame Tightwad – couldn’t buy this book fast enough and would have forked over a bit more of my money had V asked me to, but she’s a good person and has priced her book very fairly. She lovingly referred to Lame Adventures: Unglamorous Tales From Manhattan as the “Manhattan Project” while it was in the works, and it details her exploits in the Big Apple.

I likely would not have purchased her book if it weren’t for a little thing called guest blogging. I first learned of V’s existence in October 2012 because she wrote a guest post on A Clown on Fire. I clicked over and have been hooked ever since. If we simplify the equation, her guest post equaled a new follower which equaled a book sale. Literal dollars. But big heart symbols too.

It got me thinking about the way effective guest blogging works. We may not all be selling something or even really care about hitting some set of arbitrary pageview goals, but as writers and bloggers, I think we can all agree that getting more return readers is something that we are interested in doing. Guest blogging is a potential way to do it and meet new friends, but so often I glaze over the instant someone puts up a post on their blogs written by someone else. There are two reasons for my indifference.

First, the host blogger often admits in a forward to the guest post that s/he is bogged down with life and that’s why s/he invited someone else to post that particular day. Basically, the guest blogger is a babysitter. Who respects the babysitter? Not me. That’s not to say you shouldn’t invite someone to guest post when you don’t have time to post yourself; just don’t advertise your absenteeism. Frame the guest blogger as someone to look forward to, not just an afterthought to your weeklong red wine binge.

Two, the guest post is often so self-promoting that it’s basically a commercial. Great, so Stanley Steamer is babysitting me. Good times in the blogosphere.

What makes a guest post work? I have a few ideas.

DSC08780 - Copy

A good guest post seamlessly merges the style and content of the host blogger with the style and content of the guest blogger/writer. Readers are savvy and they can detect awkward from a mile away. If you ask someone to guest post on your blog, make sure it’s a logical pairing. Even though it was hilarious and awesome when Snoop Dogg made a guest appearance on the Martha Stewart show, the same cannot be said of blogging. If the pairing is too random, your readers and theirs likely won’t hang around until the end of the post. You shouldn’t be carbon copies of each other, but seek out someone whose experience and style fills in the gaps of your own writing.

A good guest post has been given some thought by the host blog. If you invite someone to a potluck, you usually provide general guidelines on what they should bring so you don’t end up with only 9,000 paper plates, 30 pounds of ice, and one dish of potato salad. So it is with guest blogging. When you invite someone to guest post, consider giving them a bit of a prompt if they’re having trouble coming up with something on their own. This is what makes Le Clown’s guest series “A Canadian Clown in Gunland” work. In each post, bloggers lead Le Clown on a tour of their city. This framework is specific yet general enough for the guest blogger to show off their skills to an audience that may not know them. The guest blogger’s style and personality shines through the prompt.

A good guest post is shiny and sparkly and represents the best work a blogger has to offer. I look back at some of the guest posts I’ve written in the past and I cringe because I clearly did not give them as much attention or time as I give to posts for The Waiting. Not only is this insulting to the host blogger who basically invited me into his or her own house, but I also wasn’t doing myself any favors by showing up with less than my A game. Each guest post you write has the potential to bring new followers in, not to mention strengthen your versatility as a writer. Get dressed up and shampoo your hair for once. You will likely want to promote your piece among your own readers. If they click over to your guest post, don’t serve them up some watered-down version of yourself.

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Sound good? Want to write a guest post? Want to host a guest post? You know I have some opinions on going about doing that, too. Hang on as the insufferable know-it-allity continues.

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Read some solid multi-author blogs and figure out why exactly they are working. Sometimes I hate it when I am looking for a set of instructions to do XYZ and that list includes something as boring and passive as reading. Gaaaaaah. But it’s true that by taking a step back and looking objectively at blogs that aren’t authored by one specific blogger (Kidz Showz and The Official How-To Blog, I’m looking in your direction), aspiring guest bloggers and host blogs can learn a lot about writing in a place that isn’t necessarily their own cozy corner of the Intertron. Multi-author blogs thrive on collaboration and the strength of their many moving parts. They have to have a strong sense of purpose and a clear objective to have any kind of resonance among the blogging community. Figure out what’s working for them and adapt it to your own situation. Even consider contributing to them if you think your work fits in.

Make sure you know the host blogger before you solicit a guest post to them. My friend Jells of I’ll Sleep When They’re Grown recently posted about random companies contacting her to guest post on her family blog. Anyone who is familiar with Jells knows that her writing is fantastic because it is almost exclusively about the everyday occurrences of her and her kids. Her writing breathes because she cares. Her distinctive style is what keeps me coming back. Why would she ever be in need of someone to write filler copy?

Although I know none of you would get all spammy like that (right? Riiiiiiight?), there’s still something to learn: be sure when you pitch an idea for a guest post to a blogger that it fits within the milieu of what they’re doing. Do a quick search to see if they have even run guest spots before. If they haven’t, think long and hard about asking them to host you. Sometimes it does hurt to ask.

Even if you write/host an outstanding piece, don’t expect to get a plethora of new active followers or sell eleventy billion copies of your book. If I have learned anything from the featured post circuit (coughcough humblebrag), it’s that one great blog post will not endear me to the hearts of all readers and writers the world over. The amount of blogs and bloggers is mind-numbing and even though you may get some new followers after hosting or writing a guest post, it is not likely that you will hear from all of them again. But that’s OK. Don’t discredit the subconscious: once someone sees your name and tucks it in the recesses of their mind, they are far more likely to remember you when they see the name of your blog floating around elsewhere. They may click over to you and get to know you better when they see you commenting elsewhere or when someone retweets you.

So, that’s what I think I know about guest blogging. What do you know? Please tell me in the comments.

Listen To Your Ashley

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Meet Ashley. You may know her already. Still, say hi.

Hiiiiiiiiii, Ashley.

Ashley is pretty much the best. She writes a blog called Zebra Garden.

ashley1

I had been blogging for two months when I found Ashley. Scrolling through the parenting boards on WordPress, I clicked on a link to a post by a full-term preggo who was singing the praises of her husband. It was her. We would get along.

Ashley has become my Internet bestie, the person I go to when I need moral support not only on all things blogging, but mundane, everyday stuff too. She’s my grown-up pen pal and I love so, so many things about her. One day we’re going to meet in real life and the entire world is going to break out in Handel’s Messiah. Puppies and rainbows will fall from the sky. It will be scary but fun.

Here is a short list of why I love her:

1. She constantly helps me in my writerly endeavors. It is really, really easy to get competitive when you’re trying to make a name for yourself. But Ashley still forwards great opportunities to me – ones that she is also vying for. Her selflessness is admirable. And she looks awesome in a cheerleading uniform. She’s been blogging waaaaaaaay longer than me too and gives me invaluable advice on making sure I turn off the caps lock before I start typing.

2. She takes everything into consideration. Ashley was my right hand woman during Festivus. When Sandy Hook happened right in the middle of Festivus, it made me sick to have ever thought of my silly blogging game. However, Ashley knocked it out of the park with her Festivus wrap-up post. It gave me chills. It still does. Ashley’s tact and awareness shine. She is an incredible member of our blogging community.

3. She makes me giggle snort. She has the bravery to take Peeps down a few pegs. These words just needed to be said. Brave. Simply brave.

4. Her words are mountainous. There are very few things Ashley writes that don’t get me fired up or move me. She gets those words in the right order every single time. Her thoughts on the important things – the really important things – ring true. She will make you care if you don’t already.

5. Her vulnerability gives her strength. Rather than wallow in the not-so-fun things that happens to her, she learns from them. She regularly serves up pwnage of Pinterest and puts it in its place. She lives life proactively and relishes all the fast balls that the world throws her way. She is making a beautiful life for herself and her family.

Tomorrow, Ashley will be taking the stage as part of the Kansas City cast of Listen To Your Mother. I am endlessly proud of her for this and all she does.

Break a leg, Ashley! We love you!

Humor me for a sec.

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I just have one little question for you. It’s this:

That was easy, no?

I have never done a poll on the blog before. I evidently thought about doing one, though, because when I went to make the one above I found this one in my poll queue. It was from before C (AKA Bebe) was born. You are more than welcome to answer it, although at this point if you get the answer wrong I will have to give you an F- for the reading comprehension portion of your grade. That will inevitably bring down your score for the entire semester, thus affecting your GPA adversely, and then you can kiss your chances of getting into a fully-accredited university goodbye. I may also cut you. Chose wisely.

Now here’s this. My husband spends a lot of time on Tumblr and he found it and made me happy:

funny-gif-llama-gayThat llama is my spirit animal. So fab.

Hope you’re having a great weekend!

My Office

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I am obsessed. I am obsessed with Anne Lamott’s wondrous book Bird By Bird. I am also obsessed with the word “wondrous” because I have used it no fewer than 65,936 times in the last week, and I have no intentions of retiring it from my vocabulary just yet. Lamott has given me the kick in the rear I have been needing to just write like a mofo and give myself away to words and things and the saying of the say. I’m in the middle of a spell of cognizant automatic writing right now. Since I’m a blogger, though, I guess you could call it Automattic writing.

*Crickets.*

Moving on.

The entire book is quotable. I have underlined nearly the whole thing, which totally defeats the purpose of underlining anything at all because there are maybe now two sentences left in the book that are virginal and unsullied by my markings.

One thing Lamott talks about is programming your mind to think and to write on command. She says that you have to train your brain to deliver that thought stream around the same time every day. Our stomachs consistently get hungry midday because we’ve organized our day around lunch, and in much the same way we have to carve out a specific, consistent time to write each day. It signals to our body and our mind that it’s time to get down to business.

That time, for me, is shower time.

DSC08770 (2)

My office

Oh, shower time, how I have wrestled with you. The bathroom became my studio when I was pregnant. This post was very literally born there, making it the baby I birthed in the toilet. (I know, TMI. And gross.) I would get in the shower and just zone out and plan what I wanted to talk about. Then C came along. She accompanied me in the bathroom while I showered each morning, sitting in her little Rock ‘N Play. When she was tiny, the rushing of the water would zonk her out, but as her naps became more consolidated to two distinct periods of the day which did not coincide with my shower time, she would scream and yell while I lathered up. I would have to sing Baby Beluga for the entirety of my office hours, and I couldn’t let my mind brainstorm when there was a baby who was screaming at me.

Some people can slice up their attention like that and satiate dual demands. I am not one of them.

However, that magical one-year mark has remade my C into a child who plays amicably by herself during my showers. Much like the writer’s mind, she knows what to do when I deposit her in her playpen in my bedroom because she expects it every day. She knows it’s time for solitary play, and my brain starts firing on cue.

What is it about the shower that makes me get in that space of thought? It’s not the privacy, as C has made me wave the white flag of bodily discretion for the next several years. It is likely the monotony of my routine in there. Wash face, spit out mouthwash, wash hair, condition hair, wash body. I’ve been doing it this way for years and I don’t have to think about it. It’s cathartic and compulsory. I’m tempted to call it liturgical but that’s a bit too heavy-handed and showering me vetoes that word choice.

Office mates

Office mates

The walls of the shower are enclosed and the sounds of running water get me to that place where my mind can roam free. Since I can’t write down anything while I’m in there, the ideas that survive a thorough towel-drying are usually stronger. They are often the ones you see fleshed out here.

I am grateful for my bathroom. Have I jumped the shark by admitting it? Probably. Am I becoming insufferable by choosing to write about my shower? Most definitely. But it’s in the mundane that I am learning to take solace. It means something to me. I don’t live a particularly exciting life, but my mind can dream up fantastic things when I will it to.

The rubber duckies speak to me.

George Clinton is a Target shopper, and other untruths I’ll inevitably tell you

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There are bloggers among us who are mercenaries. I am not one of them. I write for free and pretty much all you have to do is look at me nicely and I’ll beg you to let me write for you.

I have two guest posts this week. One is over at Psychobabble where I regale you with tips on being the best bridesmaid evar. The other is at Kidz Showz where I talk about celebrity narrators on – what else? – kids shows. Children, this is why you stay in school. A breadth of knowledge such as mine is to be had if you just commit yourself.

You may feel as though you’ve met your Emily Quota for the day by simply reading this post directing you to the other posts. However, you’ll never know if I revealed the secrets of the universe in my other two offerings to the blogging gods if you don’t take a look-see.

Plus, I mean, the picture below is featured in one of the posts. I’m pretty sure you’ll want to know the back story.

pfunk 1

See you over there! (Please?)

Once again, major props go to Ande for making my new blog badge. That guy is legit, yo. 

Let’s all hold hands and sing Kumbaya.

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This is the post where I bask in the glory of the Internet and its ability to transmit all the says I say around the globe.

Remember awhile ago when I begged you to further inflate my oft-pregnant ego and “like” the page on Facebook? Remember how you thought to yourself, “Wow, I never thought I’d see Emily get so low as to flat out beg for hits”? And remember how you liked me anyway because you are nice and you know I mean well but just lack any savvy to garner Internet kudos without begging? Yeah, I remember it too. And trust me, it was a proud moment when I got a whole cartload of likes on just one day. It gave me a wicked case of the kumbayas because only the day before I had gotten a particularly mean-spirited comment on an old post that made me feel all kinds of sad emoticons.

Wop-waaaaaa.

Wop-waaaaaa.

During the Day of The Like, I got a comment on the page from a reader in Australia (hi Jari-Ann!!!) that filled me with a happiness roughly on par with seeing a giant unopened package of Double Stuf Oreos on your counter all for you. So yeah, elation. The reader, who (I’m fairly sure) had never left a comment before, told me that she had been following me since C was born and that she always gets excited when she sees a blog update in her inbox. I know! I was so excited to hear this! And I promise I’m not making it up. You can even go and SEE her comment and know that it’s real and not a figment of my imagination.

I have always been aware of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there are people out there in the other computerboxes who read my things and don’t really comment on them. That’s totally OK by me. Comments are wondrous and right and an angel gets its wings every time you leave them, but they are not everything. Angels do not need to fly and live perfectly beatific lives walking. All I really want is for my words to make you nod along and hopefully see the world in an invigorating new way that complements your own experiences. If you leave a comment, fabulous. If you don’t, that’s OK too. But I want those of you who don’t really interact with me here to know that I appreciate you and I’d like to get to know you. I’d love to know where you live and what makes you tick, not because I am a weirdo who will hunt you down and unload all my baggage on you (which I pretty much already do since I blog), but because I love how reading and writing and sharing makes the world a smaller, cozier place. You may have already noticed I have a raging, hormone-induced infatuation with the Internet. Well, the Internet is all people (except the bots, who I love too anyway because Horse_ebooks.) So that means I have a crush on you.

My parents sometimes took my brother and me to this science and nature museum when we were kids. There was a little exhibit of a fox’s den off the main drag of the museum – nowhere near the giant, shiny pendulum or the taxidermied lions who were rumored to have eaten an entire village in Botswana. You could crawl inside the softly lit cubby hole with brown carpet on the walls and feel safe and small. You could still hear all the tour groups and big kids on field trips outside the hole, but for a moment that tiny spot was yours. It smelled a bit like urine but what did you expect at a kids’ museum?

You all are my fox’s den, minus the pee smell. (This is a major compliment.) I feel safe and full knowing that you care. This Internet is a big black annoying forest where you walk into cobwebs and get them in your mouth and then spin around and spit like a crazy person, disoriented and angry. Somehow, though, we have all managed to find one another without much of a compass, and we have nestled in together in a safe enclave. Even if you’re quiet and don’t leave me a note, just know that the residual heat you leave in our tiny nest keeps me warm and I appreciate you.

Ooooh, Lord, kumbaya.

 

To All the Words I Haven’t Written Yet

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I was thinking about you tonight as I gave the baby a bath. She squirted me with her rubber duck and babbled an incoherent phrase, and my mind went to you because even though you don’t exist yet, you will soon enough and you will be as big a part of me as this girl who I am a willing slave to.

Some of you will be easy. You will commandeer my fingers and trick me into believing that I am wholly responsible for you. You will be neat and clean and minty and we’ll get along well because you’ll never ask me to help you move, but even if you did I’d be there at 8:00 AM on a Saturday morning with the truck.

Some of you will be hard. You will seem like a good friend when I first think of you, but then I will invite you for coffee and learn that you are completely cracked-out and that when I went to the bathroom you took my wallet from my bag. You will seem like a good, lost soul though and I will become patient with you and keep you around against my better judgment. I’ll eventually publish you in a misguided effort to pawn you off on someone else.

Some of you will be serious and intense. I will develop a crush on you and want to be around you all the time and drink you in because it is with you that real change will be made in the world. I’ll grapple with you and try to impress you, only to spit out ideas that merely hint at your hugeness. You will make me wear a black beret and shirk off tomfoolery and just focus for once on something that has depth and meaning. You’ll take me to rallies and motivate me to say things that triumph Truth and Dignity.

But then I’ll cheat on you with your twin brother: words that are funny. I’ll meet you funny words on the sly and admire my ability to recognize you in nearly everything that’s ever happened to me. I’ll be ashamed to admit that you were there at every funeral I’ve ever been to. Don’t you have any sense of decency at all? Couldn’t you have just realized your place? If you weren’t so likable you’d be a menace.

Some of you will get really popular. Everyone will like you because they know you too. I will briefly become popular by association. I’ll be your date when you get elected prom king. The only thing is, I won’t be elected prom queen. Someone else with poofier sleeves and fifty pounds less girth than me will get that distinction. But I’ll still be proud of you because I know you’ll be leaving with me. I gave you strength and resonance and taught you how to wax on and wax off.

Some of you will not be as popular but you’ll be OK with it because you are secure in who you are. Your grace and eloquence are inherent, and you will take stock in your depth. You will love me for me, laugh at my inside jokes, and allow me to cry and vomit you all out in a messy but necessary way. You are patient and delicious and your soul is old.

Some of you will be a mess of the hotness variety. You will look like you applied mascara and drank a blue Slurpee while participating in a rodeo. People will humor you because you mean well but they are all really wishing you’d just go away and leave them alone and stop raving that the moon is made of rubber bands and that Cap’N Crunch is the lovechild of Thomas Jefferson and Zsa Zsa Gabor. I’ll bring you home, sober you up, and take you out for breakfast the next morning and tell you to get your act together for goodness sake.

Some of you will be long. Some of you will be short. I will regret saying some of you. I will be proud of myself when I say others.

I will love you all. You all will be important. You will help me continue creating a world that makes sense to me. You will grow up with my own fleshandblood child and help me be a better parent to her. You will complete the story I’ve already started writing.

And one day when I’m gone and one or two people are trying to pin down just who I was, they’ll call you up and invite you for coffee. You’ll both laugh and talk and cry and think, and in some way I’ll know of your meeting and be happy.

I should probably write a blog.

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I have a few extra minutes. I’ll write a blog post.

*Logs into WordPress.*

I should check out Freshly Pressed. It’s been a few days. Anything good? HEY! My blogging friend has been FP’d! I should read what they wrote.

*Reads post. Feels dumb because overlooked it when first saw it in reader several days ago. Writes substantive comment proving that I really did read it and didn’t just check it because it was FP’d.*

OK, so a post. Should I write something serious? Meh, I wrote something serious last time. I don’t want people to think I’m depressed. Am I depressed? I’m a blogger, so I’m probably depressed. Or I have ADD.

Speaking of ADD.

*Checks Twitter. Retweets a bunch of stuff. Remembers that I have unfollowed people for retweeting as much crap as I am retweeting now. Tries to think of a good tweet. Can only say snide things about Caillou. Self loathing commences.*

So, a post. All the unfunny I just spewed on Twitter has cleared the way for the real funny. Should I write about the baby? People seem to like the baby. I like the baby. I probably shouldn’t make fun of her on the blog. That’s a good way to ensure she’ll give me hell in her teenage years. But at least I’m recording her childhood? She won’t be mad that I told everyone about her raisin poops because I also said all those nice things about her. I should just make fun of Facebook. It’s already scarred for life.

*Logs into Facebook. Sees that the blog’s Facebook page gets way more action than personal page. Personal page is the kid with headgear that smells like soup and liked Saved By the Bell before it was ironic and hilarious to do so. Blog page doesn’t know it exists. Personal page wishes it could get to second base with blog page.*

I should really write a post.

Maybe I should read some posts first? The first step to successful writing is successful reading.

*Scans the reader. Reads some posts, all good, as I have excellent subscribing taste. Likes them. Realizes that I should probably comment too or people will think that I’m one of those obnoxious people who only Likes and never reads. Writes magnum opus in the comments section of several blogs. Uses up all eloquence that could have gone to a decent blog post.*

I should respond to all those comments people left on the blog over the weekend. How dare I write a new post while I still have unfinished business! I am lucky to get any comments at all.

*Checks comments. All way thoughtful, all deserving real answers. Responds with Arrested Development references and LOLcats links instead.*

*Glances over at empty glass of water on the side table. Refills it and eats some crackers in the process, in order to nourish self for all the Very Serious Writing that is about to take place.*

Until Klout. How is my score? WHAT. Why is my score going down??? Why do I even care? I haven’t gotten a new perk in almost a month!!!! This website is broken!!!! WHY WHY WHY? Where am I?

*Logs back into Facebook. Messages several people to join Klout because it’s “totally awesome” and because doing so will push up score. BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS THE MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL THE THINGS. At least I don’t play Farmville?*

*Toggles back to WordPress. My novella-length comments have been answered. But soft, what is this? New followers! Eats more crackers to celebrate. They’re all bots BUT CRACKERS AND FOLLOWERS ARE YES.*

I should check and see if anyone read the post I put on BlogHer. I need to dominate BlogHer. BlogHer needs me.

BlogHer doesn’t need you.

Oh right. Twitter needs me.

*Remembers funny thing husband said that morning. Tweets it and passes it off as one’s own. Wonders if plagiarism counts if the person you copied is your spouse.*

*Waits for stars.*

*Waits for retweets.*

*Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.*

Yeah, I didn’t think it was that funny either. Unfunny husband.

*Glances at clock. Baby has five minutes of nap left. Realizes that no blogging will be done today. Decides to write book. That sounds like a fantastically good idea.*

*Tweets about my upcoming book. Sets up Facebook fan page for novel that has yet to be written. Chooses super-flattering picture of me wearing my smart people glasses for the profile pic.*

The baby’s waking up. What an afternoon well spent. I love blogging.

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You may have noticed that I linked The Waiting’s Facebook page above. That was my polite way of indicating that you should probably “like” it. Now I’m just straight-up begging. Here it is again. I’m three likes away from 100 and it sure would be nice for me to have something to toast this weekend besides a fulfilling life, my health, a beautiful child, and the utter devotion of the other 97. Because priorities. Please and thank you.