Ever since I started this blog I have been asked if I consider myself a writer, and the answer is always no. I don’t get paid for it, I never did any training for it and I didn’t set out with an intention of having thousands (over 30,000 of you now) of people reading what I wrote. I simply had a go. And people liked it. And people shared it. And some of you stuck around for the long haul. Thank you.
This week I hit a bump in the road. The bump that nobody who spends any time on the internet wants to hit. The bit where the delete and block buttons get a workout.
The worst part of this was not the hideous things being said about me. No, it was the fact that after I posted something which I really didn’t think was going to attract the negative attention that it did (yes, really), there was an eerie silence. A silence from people I knew, that I thought would be looking out for me in times of peril.
It took many hours before I had any contact from people I knew asking if I was alright. And even then it was a handful. One person called. And none of the people that reached out was a fellow blogger who knows what a day like that can feel like.
Because I had committed the cardinal sin of blogging. Actually two sins. I had touched something “dirty”. Something uncool. Something that was ok to like before, but certainly wasn’t ok now. Something controversial. My second sin was trash talking some trash talkers. Because, well because, fuck you internet justice vigilantes.
I saw all kinds of things being written about me that would make a lesser person cave. My integrity was questioned, my morals were questioned, I even saw conversations online suggesting I was “self-promoting”. From someone I knew. In a group they had forgotten I was still in. How very ouch.
It’s all good. I’m starting to see the wood for the trees now, this is all part of the “Bloggers Journey”. Yeah, I’ll write a self-help book about that sometime, because if you are on the internet you will need it. You will need some balls of fucking steel to see this thing out. It’s a bit of a bittersweet moment actually because I am seeing the road ahead, and it’s not all roses. There are politics, the “Bloggerati” who will use you while you’re riding a bit of a wave, and then leave you to swim with sharks when things are too hot to handle. And that’s ok, I’m learning the reasons why. But it still sucks.
But here’s the thing. I do this because it’s fun. I do this because it’s a therapy of sorts (yawn, truth) and because the thrill of making you laugh gives me more than just a confidence boost, it gives me validation that I’m good at something. And I think it is OK to enjoy that. It doesn’t make me arrogant. It makes me normal, we all need an approval of sorts sometimes.
I’ll leave you with this. And it’s not THE END.
My name is Far Kew, I am a writer, and I am not going anywhere.