The Exhaust Flow of Blogging
My doubts about blogging, after seven months, seems to have become certainties.
Seven months ago, I started writing on Medium, quite new to blogging and with minimal writing experience to my credit.
I’ve been immediately attracted by blogging, especially given the modernity of Medium. But soon, my first impression was about impermanence, redundancy, patterns. I asked myself what would have remained, of my blogging.
I’ve read books twice, thrice. Even four times. Books written decades ago. But how many posts had such an impact, on me? I read many good posts but I’m not even able to recollect them, and I often don’t remember the author. And after them, thousands of posts have been written on the topic, the same topic, the same idea.
I’ve read all the books of some “classic” authors. I read about their thought in depth. How it evolved. How other authors criticized or supported it. I’ve had the possibility to form my opinion. Often, a lasting opinion.
I know that blogging is a different form of expression. But I hoped something better.
What did I hope?
Posts need a single question, a single answer, a single experience, a single purpose, a single something. Maybe there’s not always the need for such “singleness”, but posts are short, and squeezing a book is not the best approach to blogging.
Also, posts live in the digital ecosystem. Short attention, distractions, a huge amount of popping up content. Once they click on your title, your readers will give you some seconds of their patience, then they may skip to the next article. Not infrequently, they “scan” your story.
Posts need to compromise with a hyper-compressed attention. And with Google. With keywords. With slugs and tags. With inbounding and engagement. With frequency.
Still, you can read many good posts, some to remember, maybe that leave a sign in you. These posts are exactly what I hoped. Concentrated words about some value from the author, be that a meaningful experience or a reflection of a lifetime. Or also light words, about some thin energy or message that the author caught in the air, a time port.
The rumble
Instead, I see a restless pool. Thousands of posts streaming in, every minute, unceasingly.
They stay in the pool some hours, maybe days. Then out— already consumed — through the big spill gate.
I hear the rumble anytime I hit publish. It makes me shiver.
The same authors throwing in tenths of posts on the same idea from a slightly different perspective just to occupy space on the surface. Or hundredths of different authors explaining the same how-to in a personal way. Millions of drops, small sheets, little crystals, corks. Coins. Some fragile boats.
The exhaust flow rumbling and sucking posts every second.
And any author trying to keep their posts visible, with SEO, Facebook groups, other frequent posts, etc. Continuously. Sometimes even unfairly.
If you’re a good and productive craftsman, how long will your articles stay in the pool? On Medium, few days. More, if your audience already reached a critical mass. But posts that are not swamped by the incoming flow or attracted by the vortex of aging trends are rare.
If you look at the number of stories with a relatively popular tag, on Medium, you’ll see that often hundredths of stories are weekly published with that tag. What about Medium in general? Thousands. Maybe tenths of thousands. And Medium is just a small part of the Web. How many articles outside Medium? Better not to check…
After 7 months and 50 posts, I still have posts that nobody reads. Pebbles sinking at incredible speed, which have never seen the surface.
Anything has to go, I know, but… well, this is going so fast…
Someone tames the flow. Maybe someone who deserves it. Or someone we deserve.
Someone falls in the pool and is flushed away along with their laptop.
Maybe I love my words too much. Perhaps it’s time to finish my book, for a different pool. And to hope this story stays afloat enough for a little chat.
