Meandering Thoughts on Traffic
Hello there. The empty bottle of beer sitting on my desk reminds me that I’ve re-written this article at least three times now. Because I’m still working out the right words that accurately explains my feelings about our relationship. About you coming here to visit me. About you coming here privately, away from the mainstream channels of the internet to see if I’ve drawn something pretty…
I’ve gotten used to being your little secret visiting spot. I’m okay with the fact that I’m not on any list of anything. I’m not in a fancy blog network, and I don’t really get mentioned anywhere. Long story short: I just want to keep doing what I love to do, and say “hello” to anyone who happens to pass through my little corner of the web, and tell them “thank you” when they leave. I like to keep it personal.
I hang my head in shame at the mere thought that maybe I’ve just lost interest in traffic, because isn’t the whole mantra of a blogger about seeking the highest number of subscriptions possible? Who am I, to be so blatantly selfish that I maintain this site purely for my own enjoyment, way out here in the middle of nowhere? I’m just not entirely sure what I would do with all those people, if they ever showed up.
Before some of you cry “hypocrite”, I’ll clarify that I used to care a great deal about traffic. In the not-so-distant past, I posted and wrote and danced my little thing in the hope that someone would like me for what I put here. That maybe I too, could be a popular and cool person. All efforts so far seem have resulted in “unknown” and “creepy”, but that might just be the beer talking.
My good friend from the North (Mr. Jon Snook) very recently wrote an article about how designers hurt their own search rankings by scrapping the site design. It’s actually a very interesting read, you should go check it out (after you’re done here, of course).
What I found most interesting though, is my own reaction to the subject. I was already feeling an aversion to search rankings and pressure to maintain traffic, but didn’t clarify my point hardly at all, and actually wandered off the topic a tiny bit (which is why I should really stop leaving comments on blogs). Even here, I’m sure that a solid point is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. This post is entirely “stream-of-conscious” type of fluff.
Pausing for a moment to rock back and forth in my chair, I still yet struggle with the language that others seem to come by so easily: I hate you, but I love you. I like that you’re here, but I never asked you to show up. The mirror tells the truth of what I am: a reclusive artist with a fair bit of “strange” for a personality. A hermit who loves nature. Or even like the strange man who lives in that house the kids dare each-other to approach… That’s kind of like me, I think. Strange. Unapproachable. Weird.
I’m a hopeless romantic. I dream that maybe I’m like that unknown indie rock band that no-one’s heard of; that only a handful of people listen to. Or that maybe I have this quiet little cottage in some small town where visitors can just wander in, watch me draw, enjoy some tea, and feel like this is a very limited experience. That perhaps by not having the pressure of writing to a massive audience, that I can get so much more personal with the small group that I do have. I can feel like we’re all friends here and not stress about making this site perfect.
I’m yawning now, which is a sign that perhaps I should stop and just post this kruft. I don’t expect anyone to understand how I feel, or even agree with me. But I’m glad I had the chance to talk to you about it. Thank you. Oh wait, real quick I wanted to tell you about how some scientists recently discovered (with X-Ray) that Picasso actually painted over his own work. I think that’s rather amazing, and lends some serious food for thought.
