There is a reason why we writers write. I didn't start blogging just to vent my innards or escape from reality. In spite of the fact that I tell myself my identity as a writer does not depend on whether or not the words I spew forth are read, deep within a base desire spreads like fungus.
No. I wouldn't mind a reader or two. I am so envious of Julie Powell, the creator of the Julie/Julia Project and memoir of the same namesake. According to thus memoir, Julie and Julia, she had multiple readers within weeks of beginning her blog. People from all over the nation followed her story: young married, childless secretary in New York cooks her way out of despondency. They loved her, and they love her still. Perhaps her success lies in her content. Lots of people love cooking, so it is possible that serendipitous key strokes led them to her URL. Or maybe they like her storytelling spunk. Personally, I am not a huge fan of her writing. Don't get me wrong, she is an intelligent and liberated woman, but the flow of her syntax leaves me befuddled at times, and for some reason, it is taking me an exceptionally long time to finish her book. I read 3 long novels in the month of January, but it is nearing the end of February, and I just can't bring myself to sit for lengthy periods of time ingesting her gastronomic prose.
I am not at all saying I am a better writer than Julie Powell. I am just saying that if she can start a blog about the goriness and gluttony of French Cooking and attract regular visitors to her site, then, by George, why can't I attract a reader or two?
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