I just ripped out half my eyebrows while reading The New York Times article about Stephanie Klein and her “much-read, diarylike blog about trysts, triumphs and heartaches that has spun off a book and publishing deal…” Good for her, but I swear, if I see one more story about some blog that’s like a real life Sex and the City being made into a book, I’m going to trash my own website once and for all out of sheer embarrassment.
I suppose people are only trying to be encouraging when they forward me stories like this, but seriously, the more I read about blogs and bloggers and blogging, the more I want to shoot myself in the face. Or at least jump in a lake. Toss my computer in a lake anyway. Just disappear into the woods where I can write longhand poems into a shorthand notebook for no one else to see.
Ever.
None of this, “My genius will be discovered after I’m gone” bullshit. Sure, I’ll leave behind a messy stack of papers in a foot locker somewhere, but the only thing that’ll be “discovered” is the trunk itself when it’s picked from a curbside garbage heap, emptied of all the yellowing, scribbled poems, and sold at a New York City flea market for way more than it’s worth.
