I have a “blog.”
And I update it five days a week, a schedule I sometimes find difficult to maintain yet one I have not failed yet.
But I am not a real blogger.
At best, you could call L’histoire de sa vie a journal, because to call it a blog would imply things that are untrue. This is what I have learned in my time blogging thus far, and in inspecting the “blogosphere.”
I am not a real blogger because I do not buy hits and “followers” with expensive giveaways or by liberally posting comments on other people’s blogs when I don’t actually have anything of value to contribute, in hopes of attracting click-throughs.
I am not a real blogger because I do not own an expensive SLR camera and assume that every picture I take with it, no matter how boring or uninspired, is art worthy of your appreciation.
I am not a real blogger because I don’t post photographs of what I’m eating, or what I’m wearing, or what various items I would buy if money were no object. I occasionally talk about a burger or beer I ate/drank, but that’s pretty much as far as I’m willing to go.
I am not a real blogger because I have a (mental) style sheet that governs my blog’s grammar and style choices, and I make every effort to remain internally consistent.
I am not a real blogger because when I review a product or service it’s because I genuinely like it or hate it, not because I received something for free in exchange for a favorable review.
I am not a real blogger because I recognize that many of the issues I face in my life are the result of my own actions or lack thereof. While it would be easy and comfortable to blame the cosmos on problems I face, it is much more helpful to attempt to solve them by coming to terms with reality.
I am not a real blogger because I respect you. I respect your time, I respect that you come here to read my opinions, and I would not disrespect you by feeding you garbage.
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