This is the question I ask myself. 

Rob is a regular reader of a blog called, Ask and Ye Shall Receive, which should go on to say “a bum-hole reaming” because that is the main fare. At least it seems that way to me. Rob reads the reviews to me, and no, it’s not because I lack the ability. I just lack the time, and if your husband offered to read something to you and it saved you the trouble, wouldn’t you be grateful? 

Nearly every review I have heard so far has been about a blog the reviewer finds wanting. And the reviewers? Soulless. It’s blogging without pity. Funny as hell sometimes, but at other times it’s like watching that girl in your class, the no one liked because she smelled a bit off and stood too close, get up in sophomore English to read a poem she wrote about love with teething jarring rhymes and definitely about the captain of the basketball team whose catty too-cute-to-exist cheerleader girlfriend was sitting two rows over and snickering with her Sweet Valley High amigas. Painful. Just. Painful. But you can’t look away and you still kinda laugh. Which makes you feel hell-bound yourself.

The most recent reaming was a freelance writer who submitted her mommy blog. Apparently, it is written from her baby’s point of view. E for creative non-fiction effort, I suppose. The reviewer’s main objection was the lack of writing. They hate non-writing blogs. Nothing garners more scorn than the inability to string words, sentences and transition from one paragraph to the next. And I can see their point to a point, but the genre was not created for writers, we merely co-opted it and did it better.

“You should submit your blog.”

What?! 

I love my husband’s confidence in me. Every writer should have a husband like mine. But no way in hell will I ask to be critiqued on this little slice of the blogosphere. My own readers, and just Internet flotsam in general, offer me all the dressing down I care to deal with and then some. I don’t really need to invite someone with intent.

I am not theme oriented. I no longer believe I can be a blogger of note. I am not even funny. I don’t know why I have the audience I do. I am not that interesting, famous or destined for greatness in a Huffington Post sort of way. 

And I know that Christina Katz and J.A. Konrath would scold me for saying so, but this blog isn’t exactly platform building. At least it didn’t start out that way though it seems for moment this is my office of sorts. I blogged initially as an exercise. First for grief relief and then to sort my way through the initial rebuilding of my life, and somewhere along the way, people began to read. The writing as a career thing is johnny come lately here, and it is sometimes still too personal. I don’t think Helen Humphreys has a blog at all although Nancy Kress does, and it is career oriented.

“You’re just being a chicken,” Rob said. “The Ask people’s biggest objection is the lack of writing. You’re a writer.”

Okay, I can cop to that, but I am having trouble letting go of the idea my blog is a personal space where I can write without worry, judgement or pressure. This is clearly not where I am heading, is it? I am taking steps away from that model and heading towards the coveted, semi-openness of the writer’s blog, the platform. It’s kind of sad.

I am still not going to ask to be mercilessly raked over the coals reviewed.