It’s a funny thing, dropping blog posts into the void every day. I’m not paying much attention to analytics — that’s not the point of this exercise. The point, inasmuch as I’ve sharpened one, is to contribute something small every day, simply for the sake of doing it. Some days may be better than others. (By definition, 50% of any set will be below the median.) Some days I know what I’m going to write about before I sit down. Other days I don’t know until I start typing, or maybe not until I’ve been typing for a while.
Today I happened to glance at the stats for this modest site and noticed that yesterday’s post didn’t get much traffic. No bother. As I say, that’s not the point. I haven’t lifted a finger in terms of SEO. I’m not trying to get the word out in any fashion at all, actually. But one tidbit about yesterday’s viewers caught my eye: precisely one page view from… Kazakhstan?
Now, I know the odds are 99% this is just a bot crawling out of a Russian server somewhere in the Asian Steppe, but it illuminated two things for me.
First, Kazakhstan is fascinating. Seriously, check it out. It’s the 9th largest country by landmass. It’s the largest landlocked country. Their economy is growing like mad. And one of their national sports involves a miles-long horse race in which the objective is to drop the carcass of a goat in the goal. I’m adding this place to my bucket list.
Second, I really need to detach from any notion that anyone is reading these pages. I’ve written a couple (very bad) novels, dozens of short stories, a very short play, and a notebook or two of poems. I’ve gone through a couple rounds of the “trying to get published” game, but that rarely pans out and when it does there’s always the lingering question: why? Especially in the 21st century, why wait around for someone to “pick you” for publication in a paper-and-staples magazine? Most literary journals in the world have more staff than they have actual readers (and the Venn diagram of the two groups is very nearly indistinguishable from a perfect circle).
I grew up fantasizing about writing and publishing novels, which is a beautiful fantasy but then so is winning the lottery. There’s nothing wrong with writing — or even publishing — novels. It’s a beautiful thing, and I’m glad it’s still happening. But what no one tells you when you’re dreaming about “being published” is that doing it solves nothing. The dopamine hit that comes with any external validation is as short-lived as any other.
This may all come off as sour grapes, but I promise it isn’t. What I’m really focusing on is the truth of what it means to create and share art. There are easier and faster ways to make money and even to become well-known. In fact, given that the average American spends less than seven minutes per day reading, virtually any other path to fame is more reliable than writing books. No, the real reason to create work and publish it is the simple act of generosity it entails. Make something and give it away. Then do it again. It’s not inconceivable that if you’re making and sharing things that other people love you might one day become known for doing so, and maybe even paid. But that’s not the point. Make it, share it, repeat. Do it because you love to do it. If you want to do it and don’t love it yet, start doing it and keep doing it and trust that the love will come. It doesn’t matter which or how many people are reading you. What matters is that you’re doing the work every day and sharing it with the rest of us.
Even if the rest of us is just one person in Kazakhstan who may or may not be a robot.
P.S. If you’re real in Kazakhstan, drop me a line. I’ll be there eventually!