Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Sex, Stir-Fry, And Super-ego

At almost 3 months old, this blog represents the longest commitment I may have ever made to a writing project. I love blogging, not as much as writing fiction, but on those days when the make believe creativity won't flow, it sure feels good to tap the keys and feel like you are being somewhat productive. The main problem with this whole weblog malarkey is the feeling that you are talking to yourself. Getting people here is hard, getting them to come back or follow you is harder still. I belong to a couple of blog network sites, but I refuse to get involved in any of those reciprocal following things, simply because I only want to follow sites that interest me, and only want followers that really want to read what I write.......everything else is just numbers.

I have noticed over the years that sex and food seem to be the most popular themes online, so I was pretty happy when my wife, an executive chef by trade, wanted to start her own foodie blog. She has jumped right in and is doing well in a very short space of time. I, on the other hand, have resorted to using double entendre titles to lure in the filthy minded to my little writing haven, Actually, I have only done it once, using the work nookie, but it instantly became my most successful post, by a huge margin. Perhaps working in sex and food may double that number, which is why I went with the title for this piece, that and it sounded better than, "Her Vagina Tasted Like Creme Brulee", or, "Chef Recommended Cocking Pans". That last one is very clever as the spelling error is intentional, which will be recognized by food lovers, but also embraced by perverts who will expect to see pics of a buxom cook being banged over a hot stove.

This need for followers is making me a little mental, I must confess. I have never written for anyone other than myself and my wife, but recently I have felt the need to be read. The major stopping point in all of this is a lack of confidence which always seems to pop up just as my ego reaches climax. Prime example. I am at my local book store over the weekend, and there is an author doing a book signing. I had never previously heard of the writer, but enough people had that she had a little crowd waiting for her signature. I imagined myself in her chair, after she had left of course, with a horde of adoring followers waiting for my big old X signature to hit the inside cover of my most recent bestseller. I heard myself telling the shop assistant to fetch me an Evian and a lightly buttered scone (pronounced scown in a clipped English accent).....and then it hit me, all at once; I am Scottish, I'd much rather have beer and wings, and I would die if I had to speak to more than 3 people in a one hour period. Plus, and here is the kicker, I just don't think I am ever good enough to reach that chair.

Depression sets in, which I kill with beer and wings, and then I see my wife and kids and realize that they are the only real followers I need, but, just in case I need back-up, watch for the filthy-assed titles to continue unabated.


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