I’ve been described as ‘fundamentally angry’. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I put it on my Twitter bio anyway. I take ‘fundamentally angry’ to mean that I’m nearly always subconsciously pissed off, which is usually true. Today, however, I was more than subconsciously pissed off. I was consciously pissed off, with bells and whistles on.
I’ve recently received some super-duper exciting news to do with my writing (specifically blogging), and when I told someone, they said ‘but you’ve only got, like, 40 followers. You’re not even that famous – how did they find you?’ It was that statement that got me writhing in anger. It’s not the number of readers that defines a writer’s work, it’s the effect that it has on those readers, be they many or few. Although hundreds of followers seems to be synonymous with good writing, sometimes that isn’t the case. I know brilliant writers with very few followers, and vice versa.
I don’t particularly care about the number of followers I have. But what I am insanely grateful for is the fact that you guys bother to read and communicate with me on a daily basis. To me, that interaction is all that matters.
And the writing. Because if I didn’t like blathering on about books and theatre and Shakespeare, then I wouldn’t be here.
Screw you, 21st Century with your obsession with virtual popularity.