A conversation or a momentary glance?

Many websites ago, I noticed that the number of visits a page had over the previous day or week or month took on quite a different meaning when I considered the average length of each visit: usually in nanoseconds. So, most of those visits that I first thought were people actually considering my words or the books I talked about actually were bots that came and went faster than human fingers could possibly operate a mouse or keyboard, and that when the time-length of each visit finally got long enough to suggest a human saw my page, it was apparent that s/he was only there long enough to give my presentation a momentary glance.

Ah, so that’s why a thousand visits to a page in a website translated into so few clicks on links to other pages, much less to my books sitting there on Amazon waiting to engage you in a conversation. What a humbling epiphany it was, discovering that most of what I perceived as attempts to engage were machines scouring the web for this or that or people in a hurry to go somewhere else when they found nothing to slow them down on my page during their frenetic pace through cyberspace.

To my knowledge, WordPress isn’t telling me how long you are here, much less the impact–if any–upon you from what you see. So, as I sit here at my Dell desktop computer screen with my cat occupying a fair share of my desk chair, I wonder who you are and what you make of this place. If you’re here long enough to grok what I’m saying, you know by now that this blog has no niche. That’s good and bad, depending on what the gurus are saying.

I don’t care what the gurus are saying because if I really listened to their prescriptions about how to manage this weblog, I would become too bored to manage this weblog. Yes, I understand the value of knowing what you’re going to get before you arrive on a page, the certainty that one blogger provides daily writing tips and another provides humorous commentaries on national issues. So, I don’t offer any certainty, because I might talk about anything here from Trump to tadpoles to transformation.

I’m unrepentant about my overt lack of a niche. I thrive on chaos because as a writer (you do know I’m a writer, capeesh!) I think our most creative moments come out of chaos rather than plans and outlines.

So, you’re brave to come here because the whole place probably is about as sane as the movie “Fargo” or some film from Federico Fellini. If you’re a bot, I don’t care why you’re here, and (frankly) I hope the chaos shorts out your circuits. If you’re a person, I appreciate your brief glance at this page and can understand why it may not be your cup of tea. But then, if you’re here long enough to read today’s post and think “well, this is crap” or “hmm, he might have a point,” then thank you for stopping by–you’re the person I’m writing for.

Malcolm

Malcolm R. Campbell is the author of a chaotic array of books.

Where are y’all coming from?

When I look at my Word Press dashboard, I often see that old posts are suddenly getting a lot of visitors. Today it was Review: ‘Plain Truth’ by Jodi Picoult from last September. I have no complaints about this. I simply wonder how and why a bunch of y’all find a post six months after it was written. I don’t think the post saw that many visitors last fall.

So, do Word Press readers get together in “secret” Facebook groups and say, “Hey, let’s all read Malcolm’s old review this week. That’ll freak him out.” Or, is there a mother ship in high earth orbit that beams down subliminal messages about the blogs everyone’s supposed to visit?

Posts I’ve forgotten about suddenly appear in my blog’s stats with dozens of visits, and that sends me out to them to see what I might have said. You know, did I insult a celebrity, inadvertently announce a cure for ten horrid diseases, or post nude pictures I didn’t know were available? Of course, I keep waiting for the post that goes viral, the one that attracts the attention of major movie studios who get into a bidding war for my books. So far, that hasn’t happened.

When people find old posts, I sometimes search Google to see if anything earthshaking has happened that relates to their subject matter.  Usually not. And then, further adding to the mystery is the fact that a lot of those readers come from the far-flung corners (figuratively speaking) of the world. How do you find me? And why that particular post?

I’m not particularly astute when it comes to the issues of the day or the philosophical questions of our era. CNN doesn’t call me for quotes and the New York Times doesn’t review my books. Humbly, I must say that in both cases, it’s their loss. Of course, if I were invited anywhere special other than the nearest Cracker Barrell, I would decline the invitation because I have nothing to wear. I wear jeans an tee shirts; haven’t put on a suit and tie for years, and those I used to wear no longer fit.

Seriously, I grew up in a swamp–or near a swamp–and today’s social media (including Word Press and Facebook) are beyond me. As for Twitter, my blogs post there, but I seldom go there because I can’t figure out what’s happening. So, I wonder, how do y’all track down these old posts?

I’m usually too buried in writing and weekly chores to notice the stuff that many sites refer to as “trending.” So, if I’m ever trending, it’s news to me. Actually, I don’t want to be trending. That means the phone would ring and people would ask stuff like “Which of the Democrat’s 2020 candidates do you support?” and “Do you buy good wine or swill?” Frankly, I don’t need the hassle.

On the other hand, I appreciate everyone who stops by my blog. As we said in the old days, “What a hoot.”

Malcolm

My new novel, “Special Invesigative Reporter,” will be released soon. Meanwhile, enjoy “Widely Scattered Ghosts.”