I got the email last night. The one I’ve been waiting for since, well, ever. Since I started blogging.
It said my post was “a powerful piece that helps people understand an experience that is probably quite foreign to them.”
It also said “This is the kind of honesty and perspective that makes blogs so riveting.”
The post in question is One Sentence, Two Prisoners. I don’t think it’s my best work, but I don’t hate it, either. It means something to me, so there’s that.
But really, I’ve finally figured out the exact formula. Every single thing you must do to be featured in the all-mighty Freshly Pressed.
There is a lot of blogging advice out there. Comment, like, post so often, don’t use foul language, do use foul language, don’t alienate your followers, don’t use certain post openings, have a niche.
Have a niche. Huh. For those who don’t know what a niche is, it’s kind of like your forte. If you don’t know what either mean, you should probably open a dictionary, but since I’m kind I’ll explain it.
Your blog’s niche is something specific you write about. Your focus.
So you know how a lot of bloggers make posts about the searches that lead people to their blogs? Well I’ve been hoping to do that. Only none of mine are freakin’ exciting.
Instead, I’ve decided to let you all know how upset I am that you’re not searching cool things, and instead search shit like:
nonsenseshenanigans (6) Well, duh. I hope you were looking for me at least.
shenanigans clothing (2) Sorry you got directed here. I have no clothing. Rarely wear it.
i hit my child (2) I like to think that my post helped you, but I doubt it.
tempest rose (2) I want you to be searching for me, but you’re probably searching for her.
how to find a 4 leaf clover That post isn’t up yet — stick around. I can tell you how to find 3-leaf clovers.
I think I officially have a troll. And I have to admit, it’s kind of exciting.
First, she told me a 15-year-old who was taken advantage of by a swim coach should have more sympathy for the man’s wife and children, instead of having the indecency to be scarred by it herself. She blamed the woman, who anonymously confessed, for telling her own story, and then hoped she would experience the same thing.
Then she stated that the world is horrible and that’s okay. (This is, I may note, the only post on which her comments didn’t regard infidelity.) And accused me of blogging about unimportant issues on my own blog.
On a mental health post, she cried out defaming people diagnosed with Bipolar and went on a rant about her husband’s mistress. And discredited sociopathy as a mental illness by saying it discredits other illnesses. Then had a problem with a mental health foundation helping any and all people with mental health issues. Then assumed I was on her mistress’s side.
On another mental health post, she brought up her husband’s mistress again, in the second sentence, and made the whole comment about her.
I have a confession to make.
I’m not quite as loved as I lead you all to believe. (Though, I don’t think I’m hated either, soo . . .)
We all know about those pesky spam comments that show up in our spam queue for us to, nearly 99.999% (okay fine, 100%) of the time, delete and curse the Gods over because we were hoping just one was thrown in there by mistake and was actually a real person saying nice things about what wonderful writers we are.
Well, after immediately deleting them for a few months, I decided screw them. If they’re going to make me take time out of my day just to confirm that they are indeed spam, I’m going to use them to my advantage.