I’m always debating in my mind about what constitutes a good* post. I don’t even think I have ever in my life wanted to post, and yet now I find myself wondering constantly, What constitutes a good* post?
I walk around with the spigot flowing copious, like a champagne supernova, ideas pouring out of me into a lake of other ideas, and every single one of these ideas are a quest for the truth, the good* post.
By good, I mean a combination of useful, novel, and entertaining. At least that is what I think I mean.
Because, to be honest, writing a useful post seems arduous.
Novel and entertaining, alright, I can see that happening once in a blue moon, but useful, that’s just a bit too much to put yourself through, creating a useful post.
I know that’s what posts should be.
Or at least that’s what search engines tell us posts should be if they are to be placed at the acme of the list.
What if I would’ve spelled acme, acne? Would you have thought less of me for not knowing how to spell? Is spelling a measurement of intelligence? Would you have thought I was ignorant?
Would you have gone so far as to be irritated by this good* post? Grammar mistakes are your nemesis, your Newman!
Will the day come when search engines penalize for simple grammar mistakes?
Will your post be ranked above mine because of a simple grammar mistake, like spelling acme, acne?
Or do search engines already make that extra sift for us?
Relegating poorly written posts to the far reaches of the netherworld, where they will remain largely unvisited.
But it’s presumptuous of me to think there’s someone to address on the other side of the screen.
Why should I think it’s alright to assume there’s someone who would think anything of me if I were to misspell acme?
Why are you so certain there’s someone to begin with?
That’s just it precisely. You hit the nail on the head.
It’s irrational of me to assume I am writing on a machine that makes it possible to be read without being published regularly by a house.
Without being printed, in-print.
Think of typewriters. You roll paper in, strike keys that in turn activate a letter that then stamps ink on the paper. From there, unless you are sending it to a house editor or mailing it to a friend, the ink remains unread.
How many people sat at their typewriters and wrote, and after they wrote, they put the paper in a stack,
and stacked it away?
How many people sat at their computers and wrote, and after they wrote, they clicked File,
and saved their document magnetically into a harddrive?
Sometimes, if not on a harddrive, then a floppy disk, or tape backup, and they stacked their document away, largely unread,
It’s irrational of me to assume I’m writing in a magical machine that has access to people’s screens in another place, another part of the world?
No stranger in Norway will read what I’m writing into this magical machine
because I don’t know anyone in Norway.
Back in the days of scribes, typewriters, preinternet computers, this would’ve been a logical assumption to make, but today, it’s dead wrong.
Where was I going with this?