The Law of Self-Perpetuating Ridiculousness (aka the goodness of God and the blog kill switch)

One of the most prominent reasons that I never started a blog before (apart from all the ones I have already referred to elsewhere, of course. You have not read those? Is it possible that you are not, how shall we say, ‘current’ on all the haps of this little publication? For shame! Let the dishes do themselves and off to the archives with you!) is all the talk I heard about the difficulty of what the movers and shakers of the internet call “producing good content”. The way they all talk about it, there was something elusive and daunting about the notion of having new things for your followers to read or look at on a regular basis. Basically, content was like achieving a 1960’s era cat eye with liquid eyeliner and doing so after 18 cups of coffee.

But I have found the solution!

1. Limit your readership, ideally to one reader. One reader can be bought off rather easily.
2. Oy with the unrealistic standards. “Good content” seems like one word too many in the world of goals, dreams and blogging.
3. Start writing. It is amazing how many words come out if you just start… writing…

Ok, enough infantilizing for one post. In all seriousness though, I hated the idea of starting a thing that I could not sustain and then becoming one of those has-beens who sits in a dimly lit dive bar with a vat of room temp ginger ale, moaning to everyone who will listen talking about that one week when I had a blog. And I suppose, in all fairness, that could still happen. Next week, if I read the calendar correctly.

(Side note: the odds of my reading a calendar correctly are slim to none. It just hit me like a cement bag dropped on my head by the thugs at Google themselves that I was not supposed to pour the entire cup of olive oil into the focaccia currently rising on the counter. Dang it. If you want me to divide the oil, part in the pan and part in the dough, perhaps indicate that in the ingredient list, with asterisks and stick figures please, rather than hiding it in the actual instructions, as if I am supposed to read them all the way through. Who does that??)

I imagine the content dilemma is actually a very real thing if you are trying to make a living off of a specific subset of the population, and if you are making a concentrated effort to build a brand. My reader informs me that she is working to make this blog famous, so while my goal is basically world domination, I seem to be going about rather lackadaisically when it comes to market research and brand development. This does not appear to be bothering me…

As a kid, I used to marvel at Little House on the Prairie. How was it possible that Laura had such an exciting life, the sort that could literally fill volumes? My wise mother, Marme, said it wasn’t necessarily that her life was more interesting than mine — it was that she wrote it down. Everything is fascinating under a microscope. How often are God’s people exhorted to look and remember, to write it and tell it to others! Could it be that we are prone to missing the obvious glory that God actually fills our days with? Is it possible that we are so busy trying to develop perfect life “content” that we utterly miss the work of art God is creating in the cheerful clutter of kids playing, in the quiet hours spent reading, in the strikingly lovely inconvenience that is devoting yourself to another human being’s well-being?

My husband indicated to me today, in his most dulcet tones, that my blog is not strictly the sort of thing he would ever be inclined to read if it weren’t written by his wife (I don’t remember how many ever nevers there were…), and that it was perhaps a bit, oh what is the word — LONG. But when pinned down and forced to listen to me read the rough drafts aloud to him, he does laugh. Possibly the laughter is merely the act of a desperate man, like kidnapping victims who say unsavory things about their native country under duress, but this does not phase me. I rather assume that is why anyone currently reading this is here — dread of what I might say in this year’s Christmas card is tantamount to a shiv to the ribs in most cultures, right?

But the point is (and I do almost kind of sort of have one) is that I think I can stop worrying about having things to say. If anything, I will cause the world to search frantically for the off switch (want to know a secret? It is Drumsticks. Old school vanilla kind), and the reason is (apart from that I don’t get out much. See previous post) that God has given us SO much to SEE. It would be nothing short of criminal ingratitude to journey through this complicated (not even kidding. You have no idea how much weird God has given my life. But you will…) gem of a life and not spend a least a few minutes nosing into the metaphorical (or literal. You do you, boo) cracks in the sidewalk. And because He has made a world full of beautiful ridiculousness, this blog is very likely to continue.

If there is a break in posts, follow the trail of crunched up peanuts.