Reading and Chickens

So, in case you didn’t know, I finished my book. I FINISHED MY BOOK! Woo hoo! I am sure you would love to hear all about rewrite number four of this book, but! I can’t tell you! Because I have to tell publishing-type people about my book, get them to like me and have them help me sell my book.

What I’ve done instead is send a gazillion letters to a gazillion literary agents, and now my email inbox is like a time bomb going off, just waiting for acceptance or (ack!) rejection. I was nervous, but now I almost don’t care.

Because I’m so tired, you all. SO TIRED. So tired of writing and making small changes and thinking about what happens in this scene and that one and why and if I should change it and and and SO TIRED.

I’m too tired to read blogs, or books, or newspaper articles, or even twitter. That is a low bar when twitter is too taxing to scan. But it is.

I tried to write a funny post, but it sounded like I was telling you to go out and molest children, so I think maybe I was doing it wrong.

I think I need to not write anything “funny” for a few days (I use quotes because they’re funny) (see? not funny) and see if I remember how. But! Would you do me a favor? Would you tell me something lovely and wonderful that is happening in your lives right now? I could use the pick-me-up, not because I’m sad, but because (see above) SO TIRED.

In the mean time, I will think of something funny, without quotes. Or try.

Guess which one I am? YOU’LL NEVER FIGURE IT OUT!

Oh hey, I am not one to have negative opinions about blogging. I don’t generally care about most blogging issues (mommyblogging? don’t care! whether or not X deserves success? no opinion! which conference is the awesomest? who knows! etc etc). But there is one thing about blogging that really, really, REALLY gets under my skin, and it is that people feel COMPELLED to leave comments.

What I mean is, “Oh, Jenny* left a comment on my blog, so now I must return the favor and leave a comment on hers,” and the cycle continues. It doesn’t matter if Jenny has a blog I would never normally read or that Jenny is an agoraphobic OCD neonazi that I would hate if I met her in person: she left a comment on my blog! She thinks I am funny, and thus we must be FRIENDS FOR LIFE.

There’s also the situation where I leave comments on other people’s blogs in an effort to get people to read MY blog.

And then there’s the “no one leaves comments anymore and that is just a shame and a detriment to society, and I shall stand up for the rights of bloggers everywhere and leave comments for nice bloggers!” attitude. This goes along with, “If you don’t respond to my comment/visit my blog daily/say nice things to me throughout Internetland, you are genuine scum of the earth and I’m going to lock you in a house with Jenny, that’s how much I hate you.

There was a point when I was getting more comments than I could keep up with on this site. I mean, not zillions, but twenty or so on each post, and that meant that, according to blogging law, I had to befriend and comment on these twenty blogs in addition to the blogs I was already reading and leaving comments on blogs where I wanted the bloggers to come read MY blog and ohmygod am I admitting this on the Internet? I AM. And you know what? It sucked. It was overwhelming. It made blogging unfun, but I read from certain people that this was common courtesy, and far be it from me to be unkind.

But is WAS unkind. It wasn’t genuine. It’s not genuine to do any of these things. It’s as genuine as any form of networking, which is not at all. It all sucks balls. Sorry, it does. You’re pressing your virtual palm into other bloggers’ hands and asking them to like you, and there’s nothing fun about waiting to hear their response.

My friend pointed out why it sucked so hard, and here is what she said: “Would you like it if commenters only left you comments because they wanted you to go visit their blogs, or felt compelled to say something because of this unwritten rule, or do you want comments from people who really have something to tell you, or who you want to be friends with?”

Oh. Yeah. That.

And so I stopped commenting except when I had something to add to the conversation, and even then, sometimes I didn’t, because I was busy, and my comments and pageviews dropped tremendously, and my happiness with blogging SHOT THROUGH THE ROOF.

I am not saying that no one should ever comment on a blog. I am forever grateful for Misty, who was the first Internet friend I really made. She left consistent comments on my blog, and that made me feel like I wasn’t just writing into the void. It was wonderful. I am always grateful for anyone who leaves a comment on my blog, and I really do try to go visit other blogs, especially people who find me in the very big Internetland and comment, but sometimes people who read my site don’t update their own sites with content I’m interested in. SORRY, IT’S TRUE. Sometimes, people have different interests and are different individuals! Sometimes, I am not going to have anything to say about cool DIY projects you found on pinterest, because I kind of hate pinterest. And DIY. This does not make me a bad person. This makes me a person incapable of using pinterest, and who hates pretty things, and who has only thumbs. It’s true. You have no idea how long it takes me to type.

But if you write about a book or a movie I want to see, or a recipe, or maybe you said something completely hilarious and I love you forever, hell yeah. I want you to tell me more about it. I’m going to email you or comment if I can, and you will know that I did it GENUINELY and that I do not care about site traffic or count how many comments I get like it’s a yearbook in middle school. THIS IS NOT MIDDLE SCHOOL. The number of commenters you have means nothing. Whether you can respond to each and every commenter or not? MEANS NOTHING. You are good person EVEN IF you don’t respond to your commenters, EVEN IF you rarely comment, EVEN IF you don’t have many comments.

What is meaningful is finding your people on the Internet, and sometimes that is through commenting, and sometimes that is through other means, and that is A-OK.

So, just so you know: YOU NEVER HAVE TO LEAVE ME A COMMENT. I may never leave you a comment, but if you’re on twitter or facebook, I want to be your friend, because I like interacting that way better. I know, that obviously makes me a terrible blogger. OH WELL. But if you never leave me a comment? I will never think badly of you. Ever ever ever. People have lives, you all. Commenting takes time. Be at peace with this, because it says nothing about you, your blogging skills, or your ego. You are a good person, commenting or not. OK? OK.

*Jenny is, thankfully, only a figment of my imagination, and her blog sucks.

(I’m still on Internet break, but I couldn’t not write this down.)

One little blond boy says, “Mr. Barack Obama is a poopy head!”

The rest of the good little Seattle boys gasp in horror. One says, “You can’t say that!”

Another chimes in, “Yeah! He was the first president!”

“No,” a third argues, “that was Abraham Lincoln.”

“Oh yeah,” they all agree. “Right.”

Hey Girl, I’m taking a little blog/twitter/facebook break until my book is sent out to agents.

Hopefully this will happen, like, tomorrow. (It totally won’t happen tomorrow.)

I thought I just had to rewrite the last few chapters, but it turns out when you rewrite a book a zillion times, some things get messed up, like a character’s eyes go from blue to brown to blue again, and conversations that are supposed to happen days apart happen all at once and…it’s a hot mess, that’s all.

I’ll still be writing Office Crush, because I am addicted to writing Office Crush. If you need something despergently, you can email me at shalini at readingandchickens dot com.

Please enjoy spring whilst I weep at my laptop.

I have a confession to make. I haven’t been completely honest on these here weblog of mine. I know that people reveal themselves to the world through blogging, but I’ve been putting up a facade. Inside, this is how I really, truly see myself:

That’s right. I’m a fat, bald, beer-loving middle-aged tactless white man who swears a lot.

And who loves poofy skirts.

And men.

My inner me is named Hal, partly after that scary computer in 2001, and partly after this construction worker down the street that liked to heckle all the pretty young women as they walked by.

Regular Outside Shalini has no opinions. I love everyone and rainbows and butterflies and singing! I think everyone is just great! I’m sweet and kind and totally normal in every single way! I’ve never sworn or gotten in trouble and I am at my core a peaceful human being.

But Hal has opinions. I cannot control Hal and his opinions. He has them no matter what, especially when hormones and fertility drugs are raging through Hal.

Hal really shouldn’t swear. He has anger management issues too. Like the time Regular Outside Shalini tried to make a vegan recipe for Hal.

Regular Outside Shalini would like all her vegans to know that she totally respects their decisions to not eat any kind of animals and would never say or think any of the things Hal just said.

No, Hal! I would never!

Hal also has opinions about blogging and writing.

I tried to explain to Hal that that’s not how the Internet works. I can’t just make my blog famous, and that maybe there’s a larger reason why I haven’t made it as a writer yet. Like maybe I’m supposed to do some other kind of work, or maybe I need to work on other things in my life.

Regular Outside Shalini totally fucking agrees.

(Hey, I’m starting this new thing where I put a link at the end of each post to something I love. And to start? I read this in 2006 and it is STILL the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life: Picture Day.)

Do you remember my dog Malcolm? My sweet, sweet innocent dog who’s afraid of right turns and who finds cats confusing?

Malcolm’s third favorite thing in the world is peeing on vertical objects. His first favorite thing is eating. His second favorite thing is stealth pooping, where he poops in a bush or some ivy where we can’t find the poop, so it will stay there for all eternity, or until a drunk college student stumbles into said bush. Sorry Drunk College Student. We looked.

But back to the third* favorite thing. This is how Malcolm sees the world:

He is happy to oblige them all!

But I’ve come to notice that not everyone sees the world the same as Malcolm. In particular, people put up signs like this:

You alls, I don’t know if you’re one of those people with this sign in your yard, but I have to tell you a secret: dogs can’t read. No, it’s true!

They can’t even understand simple signage with no words! That big red slash means NOTHING to my dog. I’m for serious! I know, you didn’t know that, did you?

In fact, this is what the sign looks like to Malcolm:

That’s right, those signs are like the extra-pathetic Craigslist ads. This sign wants a golden shower, and my dog is like a hooker with a heart of gold who just can’t say no.

And it turns out that ALL dogs are hookers with hearts of gold, because these signs get A LOT of action. They get more action than anything else in the neighborhood, despite what they say to innocent dogs who just want to have a quick fun pee on someone’s lawn to turn it brown and kill it forever and ever and make sure nothing ever grows there again.

So sttop putting up those pervy, dirty, dog-molesting signs. I’m on to you. I know what you’re up to. It’s wrong and gross. My dog is a good dog who got into a bad situation, and it’s terrible to see so many people soliciting pee from a kind, gentle dog like him. He doesn’t deserve a life on the streets, peeing on creeps, eating roadkill**.

*Malcolm’s fourth favorite thing to do in the world is eat stealth poops while peeing.

**Malcolm tells me that would actually be a very awesome life. That’s because he’s only a teenager. He doesn’t need this bad influence.

***Psst, thank you for the happy birthdays for Gregg yesterday. You made his day; you’re awesome.

How To Text:

Anything about pop culture past 1975:

That Ken Burns’ documentaries are boring:

How amazing the Internet is: it’s Gregg’s 34th birthday today, and it would be SO AMAZING if you could wish him a happy birthday in the comments so I could give them to him as part of his present tonight. Pretty please?