I Am Jeremy Howell
Make money with your blog! Google Adsense in your header, in your sidebars, in your footers, in your hair! Find a niche and create content exclusively to it! Passionate about a lot of things? Then have a lot of blogs! Ensure your title perfectly describes everything you blog about for maximum Google exposure! If you don’t do this, you will FAIL.
In fact, write all your blog posts like you’re writing meta tags! Your first sentence should basically be comprised entirely of keywords. You think proper English is better? That’s fine, but remember: FAIL.
Remember when blogging was simple? I do. The golden years – opening my LiveJournal client, writing whatever the fuck I wanted to write about, and oh: the instant gratification. But then Facebook was invented, Six Apart ran LiveJournal into the ground, and the rest of the blogging world shifted into this twisted monster that insists, “You’re not starting a blog, you’re starting a business.”
I started a blog and Twitter for my pseudonym, attempting to follow “the rules” while adhering to a stiff and formal writing style, because – it’s my fucking pseudonym. Might as well call it a brand. People can Google that shit. I managed to dry heave two posts before I gave up.
It occurred to me: Why the fuck do I care? Who cares about the rules, and making money? Why am I trying to run separate identities? Why confine myself in a box as a book reader, or a Joss Whedon fan, or a gamer? I enjoy all of those things, and I want to write about all of them without maintaining a billion blogs to match.
So that’s what I’m going to do here. No hiding, or catering to audiences. This is a personal blog, but don’t worry – I’ll try to keep it interesting. You won’t find me talking about what I ate for breakfast here. If you’re only interested in Final Fantasy posts and not interested in, say, my Book Reviews, you may subscribe to category specific RSS feeds in the respective category sections.
Thanks for reading, and please don’t hate me.
Lifeline, published in Every Day Fiction. Regrets spur a man to grasp for a second chance as a heart attack seizes him.