I’ve been writing short stories, business proposals, plays, and marketing content for many years now, but recently dived into the unknown and exciting world of blogging.
It’s been an unquestioned assumption that my work was read, for example my scripts have been produced, by proposals have been won and websites have attracted customers.
However the leap into blogging has awakened my gremlins that suddenly demand the colourful array of information provided by analytics.
The intermittent exploring of customer data has grown to be a constant obsession with measuring my success through readership.
Analytics allow me to discover my readership quantities, and the extent to which they stay interested.
Never before have I questioned my writing abilities until now, where my gremlins began to ask;
Have I earned the right to be a ‘Writer’ because now I can count how many people read my blog?
How many Readers does it take to make a Writer?
Do I ignore my gremlins, and continue to remain in my status as ‘Writer’ judged purely on my ability to create a sensible and occasionally interesting collection of products?
Should my status as ‘Writer’ be judged according to my abilities to achieve the objectives of fee paying customers?
I appreciate my readers, each and every one of them. I hope at some point I have entertained, provided interest and handed a nugget of knowledge to my readers.
I feel a buzz of encouragement from each reader comment I receive, knowing that my work has been appreciated.
I’m sure a big quantity of readers would massage my ego, concurrent with causing a stream of anxiety from the attack of my gremlins, who will continuously ask if I serve my readers well.
The constant strive to improve means I need my readers, the customers of my craft.
I write to share my ever whirling chaos, that span from the drama enfolding in my head, and the call of knowledgeable golden moments gained from business world experience. The writing is an outlet for calm, reflection and learning.
Writing is part of me, and the life that I lead. It fuels both my anxieties and ego in an uncompromising parallel of balance. It’s my income, my sanity, my world.
I feel the craft, which means my readers are important and loved, and perhaps only needed in quantity to fuel my ego. I am my own judge and therefore continue to take the status of Writer.