“The future is now.”
~Nam June Paik, mixed media artist
I started this blog four weeks ago. I didn’t know why I wanted to start, only that I was sure I should.
I had a good amount of children’s stories completed, a novel in its third draft, and a need for daily practice.
Why not work on my public voice, I thought.
So, after a floundering couple of weeks on Blogspot, I decided to take things seriously. I searched through a mess of domain names, and to my surprise, found Writer Dad dot com wasn’t taken.
I’m a writer, and a dad.
So, I bought Darren Rowse’s ProBlogger book, read it, and got to work. I started reading all the “How to Blog” blogs.
Everyone said I needed a niche. Everyone said I needed a niche. Everyone said I needed a niche.
The repetition was maddening.
A niche? But I just wanted to write.
I quickly decided that speaking to a niche would dull my voice, and until I discovered my niche, I should just speak as though over a cup of coffee, even if it’s to someone sitting at their own keyboard on the other side of the world.
This, it turned out, was exactly what I was supposed to do.
Allow me to share my three biggest surprises since starting the blog:
- Traffic at Writer Dad has faced a steady climb in both subscriber count and traffic since its first day online.
- The comment section has been lively, filled with well thought out comments and genuine exchanges. I’d like to give a special thank you to Vered, who found me on my very first day, commented, and shined light on immediate possibility. Private emails were surprisingly high, but the day after I put the contact page up, they doubled.
- Traffic is much higher in the evening, and the stays are longer. I’ve had days where the average time spent on the site was six and a half minutes. People are spending time on the site, reading multiple pages.
So, now I know my niche.
The Writer Dad reader likes to take their time and read. They like to chew, not swallow. They appreciate the mathematical beauty of the way words can be woven together, even if they didn’t know they felt that way.
People have always loved stories. That isn’t going to change just because technology is outpacing philosophy. It doesn’t matter what I say, as long as I say it well.
Which brings me to my point.
I’ve already talked about the new Renaissance, and the internet as the great equalizer. We’re in the first generation of a new breed of writers, and age doesn’t matter. A sixty year old lifetime graphic designer from New York has the same shot at putting together a unique and touching piece of work as a twelve year old child in India.
Tangible books are going nowhere; I’ll never stop buying them and neither will any of you.
But they can be complimented.
An author needs only a small, loyal audience to make a decent living. If he’s willing to change the model. The same is true for illustrators.
The author who illustrates his own book is rare. In fact, attaching artwork to manuscripts is heavily discouraged. It lessens the probability of getting published. You sell your words, and the publisher matches it to an artist.
Often this works, but isn’t it a bit like an arranged marriage?
In the new model, we use the communicative power of the internet to bring artists together. I know I said I would announce my first project tomorrow, but I’m doing it now.
Tomorrow, I’ll post the full text, and that will be all you’ll hear from me until Monday. Except, of course, through comments or email.
I chose this story first because it’s small, and has a great message about money that everyone should hear, especially now. As a society, we do not do enough to teach our children about money. Most of us expect that they’ll eventually just pick it up.
But If it’s not taught in school, and we’re not teaching it at home, where are our children learning it? They learn from our example.
Not from what we say, only by what we do.
Tomorrow’s story is called The Eighth Wonder of the World. I would give these words to newlyweds, or perhaps a couple expecting a child.
It’s short and lovely.
The entire text will be available on tomorrow’s post, and I will never remove it. However, if you enjoy it, or you think the message is worth the money, you can download a PDF for $3.50.
That’s the price of a latte; a small one.
I’m not a graphic designer, and yes, it will look like a brochure. I’m sorry.
But I will get an illustrator, and I will make it better. That’s what this is all about. My goal is to have most of my writing available as both a download, and old fashioned copy.
I have a fair amount of work in various stages, and I’m just finding my voice.
From now on, Friday is project announcement day. If you know of someone who might be a good fit for tomorrow’s words, please forward the link. If you think I might be on to something here, please forward the link. If you’re an illustrator, and you’re interested in joining a project, feel free to contact me. If you’re a writer and you’d like to join this community, I’d love to have you.
If you like tomorrow’s words, please pass them on; Stumble, Twitter, whatever.
I have thousands and thousands or words that are waiting, and I can’t wait to release them.
Writer Dad
If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe. I promise I’ll be back tomorrow.
Her Royal Bloggess
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
~e.e. cummings
This is my seventh week of blogging, and….
Yeah, yeah Writer Dad. Six weeks, a thousand comments. High five, blue medal, good job, you’re a role model; can we move on?
I have a point. I’ll get to it quickly.
You better.
In seven weeks, I’ve learned that blog is a verb, rather than a noun. Understanding that simple truth has led me to adapt my approach. Which is good, because if you do anything new for seven weeks with zero adaptation, I can’t imagine you’re doing it very well.
I quickly found I wanted no niche, and by the third week, I knew I wanted Friday’s to be special; a day to drop a ditty, a bit more darling.
I’ve loved the community. So comments, on both sides of the interstate, have been paramount.
I’m still trying to figure out precisely what I want from Writer Dad, but last week, I rolled another solid on the Rubik’s Cube.
I was bouncing around my reader, as I do, when I’m right in the middle of A and B and I’m sure no one’s looking. I opened a site I’d opened once before. I’d subscribed because the post had made me laugh. Remembering this, I smiled when I saw the header (you’ll see).
I read the post, then I read it again.
This bears repeating.
I read a LOT of text in a day. I don’t know how much, but Rita dared me to read the bible cover to cover and if I slid my macbook under the mattress for a day, and skimmed, just a little, I could probably swallow half.
I read the post, then I read it again.
Her name’s Jenny, or the Bloggess. I know I’m probably late to the party, and everyone’s already drawn on my face with marker, but I just found her a week ago.
Her posts are so hilarious, I laugh out loud the whole way through.
The only way you could not like her blog is if you don’t like things that start out great, end awesome, and are really rad right inside their rosy middle. Well, actually, if you don’t care for potty talk, you probably won’t like her very much at all.
But other than that, she’s all aces.
Just so you know I’m not exaggerating, here are her last five posts, in order.
I didn’t go back in time and warn her or anything.
When I said potty mouth, I meant POTTY MOUTH. So delicate = do not click.
This one made me snort. This one almost made me pee. This one actually made me pee, a little. This one made me mop. This one made me shart.
I know, right?
In the last week, every time I’ve checked my reader, I’ve looked for the Bloggess first. For the first few days, nothing. The second I saw a new post, I opened it.
It was thirty-eight minutes after it went live.
And there were already fifty-one comments.
I’ve broken that number twice, and on the second time, I had to talk about poo.
I closed the window with a clearer idea of what I wanted.
I want to be the guy who gets fifty comments in the first hour, not because of the traffic he might generate, but because his writing’s worth the time.
I love the comments on Writer Dad, because I know they’re not for traffic, though I’m sure there’s been a few. But the site’s new, and there’s not a whole lot of traffic to wrangle.
I want an audience who looks forward to my posts, and misses them if not there. I want to make people laugh, and think; maybe sometimes at the same time.
We all have enough to deal with. Sometimes we just want someone who says things a little different, or perhaps even a little better.
I know I do.
Two weeks ago, whenever I saw ProBlogger light my reader, I’d stop whatever I was doing, open Darren’s post, read it, comment, then close.
It made sense; I’m new, I need traffic.
But there’s only so much time in the day, and if I have to cut, I’ve gotta make time for the things that’ll stick to my soul. I can’t imagine Darren responding to my comment; I can’t imagine not responding to one of mine.
We serve different functions and I’m comfortable with that. Blogs are as individual as people.
I’ll still comment, of course, but only with purpose. If you see me at ProBlogger, with nothing enlightening to say, you’re welcome to wander over here and punch my teeth in the comments.
I promise I’ll respond.
Writer Dad
If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe by RSS or email. I’ll be back again tomorrow. If you’re a Stumbler, please consider stumbling. Thanks.
Epilogue: I sent the Bloggess an email. I think I might have even referred to her writing as “sheer joy.” If not, it was equally dorky. Anyway, she emailed me back and said, “You’re Writer Dad? You rock!” Then she called me a wordsmith. It was neat.