"They" say that comments are crucial to your blog's success. ("They" are a lot of folks, blogger-types and social media "experts", too many to list individually.)
I have a hard time with this.
Sometimes I'll write something and I want to hear back from my readers. Tell me a story. Add to the punchline. Make me cry. Make me mad. Tell me I'm great. Tell me I suck.
But - and please don't take this the wrong way - most of the time I don't really care what you think.
Imagine:
"Yo, Herman - white whale? More like white anvil! LOL!"
"Hey Joe - your book was awesome; I met a guy like Kurtz back in college when me and my buddies did that backpacking trip up the Congo. Guy was nuts but he had some kind ganj."
"DFW - this was brilliant!"
Do I like it when people tell me they like something I've written? Of course. Any writer who tells you that appreciation is irrelevant is lying. (If you didn't want an audience, you wouldn't have a blog - you'd have a diary locked away in your bedside table, intended for an audience of one.) Even ol' Salinger wanted a lot of someones to read their work, even if they ultimately didn't care what people thought of it, or him. (Can you imagine Salinger blogging? "Went down to the AM/PM to pick up some Cool Ranch Doritos, and let me tell you, the guy behind the counter gave me such a look when I asked him if I could buy some pee to go with them. They make Cherry Coke Slurpees, for crying out loud, but not pee-flavored? Everybody likes to pretend they don't like pee. Phonies.")
The beauty of the blog-o-sphere for readers is that they have a direct line to the writer. But should writers fully embrace that? I don't know. Like I said, sometimes I want to hear what you have to say, and I respond. But there's this: comments can be a lovely seduction. They lull you into thinking you're great. Or they can be a dagger aimed at your self-esteem. Either way, the effect is the same - take comments to heart and you run the risk of setting your brain on autopilot. Give the commenters what they want, dial it back because you fear their wrath/criticism, and you lose something essential. Two sides of the same coin, and the flip always yields the same results. Your voice becomes theirs.
(Apologies for that really bad Salinger spoof. Feel free to rake me over the coals in the Comments section.)
