Have you got what it takes to go ‘pro’ as a blogger?
Now don’t get me wrong. I love blogging. Everything about it is keyboard-tappingly addictive, supportive, enjoyable. If it was my everyday world, I would be happy. But in earnest however may tips I follow, or lists I write, there is no book deal with my name on it.
Unless there is a market for, ‘how to eat a Jaffa cake in 100 ways’. Then sign me up Random House.
I am pretty much, altogether sure, I will never make it in the big leagues. And this is why.
My kid.
My son did not get the appropriate ‘adorable’ blogger child training. We did not get the manual. Probably because we came late to the party. His photo face ranges from shocked, to indignant, and then to constipated. Posing is not something he does naturally. Luckily Picmonkey have an airbrush tool to remove the snot that is often caked on his face.
When given lovely products for us to review his extremely uncreative side shines out. For example, we were meant to paint this box. He liked it plain, then sat in the garden in it singing the My Little Pony theme tune for twenty minutes.
For Christmas he was given some clothes from Joules so I suppose all is not lost.
He farts on vlogs and uses non family friendly vocabulary such as, ‘dammit’.
My partner.
He is balding. He is mistrusting of sharing content over the internet and thinks Twitter is witchcraft. Don’t get me wrong this is the most understanding man in the upper hemisphere. After taking on the responsibility of her bitey offspring his girlfriend then locks herself away for 90% of the limited time they have together. My phone constantly pings under the pillow and I ugly-hysterical sob at the computer when reading other pbloggers emotive blog posts. In the car, at the pub, in the bath.
If I can wangle a free motorbike or beer perhaps he will warm better to the idea. That or I am going to have to get creative and write naked from now on.
Lets face it, we don’t scream ‘cover girl’.
My house.
Looks like a car boot sale. To be fair we are trying to move. I don’t own pillar candles and nothing is monochrome or matching. I don’t own a little dog, a chevron patterned footstool, anything from Laura Ashely and the only pictures I have on the wall are the cast of Only Fools and Horses.
Also my kitchen is 1 metre by 2.5 metres in size. It’s miniscule. You can’t fit two people in there, let alone a tripod.
My self.
Productivity is at one percent. My job involves working with victims of image based sexual abuse and cyber enabled blackmail. After six hours of harrowing imagery followed by five also harrowing hours playing superheroes with my son, the limited time I have to blog is often taken up by me staring at the wall whilst my brain tries to reboot. That, or I will watch an unscrupulous series about vampires on Netflix. The idea of attending blog events is more terrifying than a 32 hour labour. Who else is fearful of getting drunk on Prosecco around people with Facebook live on their phones?!
I DON’T KNOW WHAT A SEMI COLON IS FOR.
I AM ALLERGIC TO CAFFEINE.
This weekend I drank too many strawberry daiquiris so ignored Instagram because it hurt my eyes. On Vlogs I use non family friendly vocabulary such as ‘dammit’.
I have so much respect for bloggers that have shed ink, hashtags and tears to get to where they are, conquered the digital world through late nights and mornings so early the stars are out.
One day perhaps.
What does it take to ‘succeed’ in the blogger world? How do you rate your achievements and is being a ‘pro’ blogger something you want? If not, why not?
I got free cookies and counted that as a win.
