You see, I've read Nancy's writing for almost a year now, and this is very high praise from a very talented writer which I take directly to heart. It reads, quite simply, as follows:
"You don't have enough readers for what you write."
And Irrelephant wrote:
And if you can tell me "Why?" I'll give you a shiny new nickel. Or a walk down a right-of-way to smell the perfect smells of fresh paint and warm metal, and let you hear all the tiny rattling noises as the skinks hide from our intruding feet.
I've blogged for almost two years now. I've written well, and I've written badly. I've stolen ideas, and used my own original stuff. I've audioblogged, photoblogged, and just plain let my guts hang out for anyone to walk by, point, and even smirk, and somehow, SOMEHOW, I can't attract more than you 20 or so; my dear sweet loyal gentle readers, to whom I'm in debt, because you keep coming back to watch me publically, mentally masturbate.
Or at least play with myself.
So YOU tell ME...what am I lacking?
THAT was the comment that I was going to leave, but decided to post as a new post, since I've only got about five more posts rattling around my brain pan, waiting to find a way out.
And it stands for any of you, my Gentle Readers, my loyal twentysomethings. My Crazy 20. The Irrelephant Patrol. Save The Irrelephant, Save The World. Tell me, guys? Would you? Why do you read? Why have you stayed? And why hasn't The Word Of Irrelephant gone any further than our little cozy menage a twenty?