I created this blog in June 2008. The world was different: We didn't have a bunch of social media sites that are ubiquitous now; we'd yet to elect an African-American as president--or a reality TV star, for that matter. We didn't really have a grip on "reality TV", either. I had recently left a web design firm where I had worked as a content editor, purchased a new home, and then had my freelance work dry up--leaving me at home with a kid barely over a year old and only half a heart to boot. The other two children of my marriage weren't on the horizon yet, and though I was only a few weeks away from finally getting a teaching job, I didn't know that at the time.
So I wrote about a video game I like.
Since then, aside from getting established in my job, raising more children, navigating a post-surgery life with my oldest, and countless other achievements and experiences, I find myself daily posting on the same website, stretching myself to write more--to write better--and to find ways of leaking my prose into the less-filled moments of my life.
Built into this is a tension between my values of artistic expression qua artistry and the hard reality of the seemingly limitless power of capital to weed itself into every area of life. Every day, when I sit down to write another essay, I glance at how many views my posts have attracted. There's no correlation between how long it takes me to write one of these and how frequently it's seen. But I can certainly detect trends.
For example, my essay about Spider-Man didn't even crack 20 views. But my ramblings about haircuts surpassed 35. I worked harder on the Spider-Man reminiscence, but fewer people cared to read about it. I found hot-button issues garner more views (like the one on strong female characters). And that's what's led me to this dilemma: Whether or not to monetize the blog.
Now, I try not to be too meta about what I'm doing here. In the past, I've pointed out that this is my blog and I'll do what I want on it, or explain a particular essay thread (like my story journal for Writ in Blood), or maybe some other personal musing aloud about what the purpose of my "blogging"* is supposed to be. I deliberately try not to "clear my throat", as it were, at the beginning of a post, by writing how "I don't know what I'm going to say, but blah blah blah," instead trying to craft a worthwhile headline that I then tie into the end of my essay. In short, I don't want to think about the process of how I write my essay as much as I want to get the essay out there. That being said, I can't explore my issues with monetization without breaking whatever filament of artistry** that I've tried to cultivate over the last half year or so--hence this paragraph, which is a paralipsis and don't think I didn't do that on purpose.
But when it comes to Blogspot, which hosts this site, it is equipped with an AdSense option. That is, I can "sell" screen space to Google advertisers, who in turn will pay me a tiny bit for every click I get. This isn't likely to be much money--likely not enough to even be worth the effort of cashing the digital check. Sure, I've written a couple of things that have hit triple digits, but they're the exception rather than the rule. And I worry, less that I'm "selling out" (as that would imply my creative output were dictated by the ones cutting the check) and more that I would be in the realm of "targeted content", choosing to write what would get people interested rather than what I feel like discussing.
Dumping on Trump, for example, got me a lot of views. Discussing Shakespeare? Not so much. Would I feel the impulse to turn this into a perpetual political machine or follow my passion? I'd like to think that I would still just be me and do my own "me thing", but in the back of my mind I would be thinking, "Hey, even though I don't have a feminist point to discuss today, I should write about that anyway. All for the clicks, yo."
On the other other hand, it's nice to say that I write for writing's sake, but maybe I only say that because that's all I have. Is having a lump sum from a publisher as an advance on a book still "selling out"? Would I feel moral ambiguity because I was writing in the hopes that someone would pay me money because they want to (perish the thought) read what I wrote? Then again, a publisher is paid by the people who are actively seeking the content, which money is then redirected to the author. Here, you are the product. The advertisers would be paying me to get to you, and that seems more and more distasteful the longer I think on it.
Then again, the 21st century is essentially one of billboards. How effective online ads are is anyone's guess, but the digital equivalent of billboards--large, tacky, and relatively benign--is a good one. Would it make a difference if there was an AdSense taking up some of the screen space on my essays?
In a way, I guess I'm asking, what are my words worth?
And God knows that I have no sense of that answer.
---
* I still find the term "blog" and "blogging" and all derivations of the word insipid. That hasn't changed since my first post. Even "post" is distasteful for me; I tend to refer to what I do here as "essays" because that sounds snootier.
** I think this is also part of the impulse to turn off comments. I don't know how I feel about my essays being areas of discussion with me as a part of the conversation. There are some, of course, who like the idea of putting something out there, getting involved in the comments, and letting things go from there. For some reason, I'm reluctant to do that here. I've drifted into Facebook comments here or there, but usually it goes so far as "liking" someone's comment, then moving on. I haven't decided how much of my life I want to live in these online discussions, so I've removed the ability of others to comment here. If someone wishes to write in detailed response, I'd hope she'd write her own essay on her blog/website. So, for whatever that's worth.
So I wrote about a video game I like.
Since then, aside from getting established in my job, raising more children, navigating a post-surgery life with my oldest, and countless other achievements and experiences, I find myself daily posting on the same website, stretching myself to write more--to write better--and to find ways of leaking my prose into the less-filled moments of my life.
Built into this is a tension between my values of artistic expression qua artistry and the hard reality of the seemingly limitless power of capital to weed itself into every area of life. Every day, when I sit down to write another essay, I glance at how many views my posts have attracted. There's no correlation between how long it takes me to write one of these and how frequently it's seen. But I can certainly detect trends.
For example, my essay about Spider-Man didn't even crack 20 views. But my ramblings about haircuts surpassed 35. I worked harder on the Spider-Man reminiscence, but fewer people cared to read about it. I found hot-button issues garner more views (like the one on strong female characters). And that's what's led me to this dilemma: Whether or not to monetize the blog.
Now, I try not to be too meta about what I'm doing here. In the past, I've pointed out that this is my blog and I'll do what I want on it, or explain a particular essay thread (like my story journal for Writ in Blood), or maybe some other personal musing aloud about what the purpose of my "blogging"* is supposed to be. I deliberately try not to "clear my throat", as it were, at the beginning of a post, by writing how "I don't know what I'm going to say, but blah blah blah," instead trying to craft a worthwhile headline that I then tie into the end of my essay. In short, I don't want to think about the process of how I write my essay as much as I want to get the essay out there. That being said, I can't explore my issues with monetization without breaking whatever filament of artistry** that I've tried to cultivate over the last half year or so--hence this paragraph, which is a paralipsis and don't think I didn't do that on purpose.
But when it comes to Blogspot, which hosts this site, it is equipped with an AdSense option. That is, I can "sell" screen space to Google advertisers, who in turn will pay me a tiny bit for every click I get. This isn't likely to be much money--likely not enough to even be worth the effort of cashing the digital check. Sure, I've written a couple of things that have hit triple digits, but they're the exception rather than the rule. And I worry, less that I'm "selling out" (as that would imply my creative output were dictated by the ones cutting the check) and more that I would be in the realm of "targeted content", choosing to write what would get people interested rather than what I feel like discussing.
Dumping on Trump, for example, got me a lot of views. Discussing Shakespeare? Not so much. Would I feel the impulse to turn this into a perpetual political machine or follow my passion? I'd like to think that I would still just be me and do my own "me thing", but in the back of my mind I would be thinking, "Hey, even though I don't have a feminist point to discuss today, I should write about that anyway. All for the clicks, yo."
On the other other hand, it's nice to say that I write for writing's sake, but maybe I only say that because that's all I have. Is having a lump sum from a publisher as an advance on a book still "selling out"? Would I feel moral ambiguity because I was writing in the hopes that someone would pay me money because they want to (perish the thought) read what I wrote? Then again, a publisher is paid by the people who are actively seeking the content, which money is then redirected to the author. Here, you are the product. The advertisers would be paying me to get to you, and that seems more and more distasteful the longer I think on it.
Then again, the 21st century is essentially one of billboards. How effective online ads are is anyone's guess, but the digital equivalent of billboards--large, tacky, and relatively benign--is a good one. Would it make a difference if there was an AdSense taking up some of the screen space on my essays?
In a way, I guess I'm asking, what are my words worth?
And God knows that I have no sense of that answer.
---
* I still find the term "blog" and "blogging" and all derivations of the word insipid. That hasn't changed since my first post. Even "post" is distasteful for me; I tend to refer to what I do here as "essays" because that sounds snootier.
** I think this is also part of the impulse to turn off comments. I don't know how I feel about my essays being areas of discussion with me as a part of the conversation. There are some, of course, who like the idea of putting something out there, getting involved in the comments, and letting things go from there. For some reason, I'm reluctant to do that here. I've drifted into Facebook comments here or there, but usually it goes so far as "liking" someone's comment, then moving on. I haven't decided how much of my life I want to live in these online discussions, so I've removed the ability of others to comment here. If someone wishes to write in detailed response, I'd hope she'd write her own essay on her blog/website. So, for whatever that's worth.