A tiny percentage of blog readers leave comments. We know this from our stats and from talking to readers we know offline. I've never quite understood why, though many people say they feel 'intimidated' or think they haven't got something clever or funny enough to say, or they perceive regular commenters to be an exclusive clique.
This is all nonsense. Bloggers are pathetically grateful for all comments short of outright abuse, and they're often a little bit grateful even for that. Even if it's just an 'LOL' or 'I agree', writers need to know that people are reading.
The upshot of which is: when you visit The Dabbler, and we know you do because The D is getting loads of traffic, why not leave a comment? Join in the fun; nobody will bite. Today we've got some splendid stuff over there, including our new Dabbler Soup recruits Jassy (who has made some Bonfire Night gingerbread) and, later today, Ian Buxton, a whisky expert. Mmmmm, whisky.
16 comments:
I'd dearly love to comment, but I'm terrified of El Yardo's crushing intellectual judgement if he happened to see...
Good on ya, Ad. Re: jacket spuds, I remember having them in Pompey at, I think, the Elizabeth Foundation.
Lurker - El Yardo? We'd be lucky - last i heard he was in some remote Scottish fastness, far beyond the reach of modern science, taking photographs on film.
Brit is right Lurker. I just commented on Dabbler with a fairly pathetic joke, and even managed to spell chocolate without the 'o' - if The Yardie was around I would be reaching for the incontinent-pants, but he's not it seems - so crack on, and think of it as being present at the birth of speech?
I never knew the Yard had such a terrifying persona. He's as mild as a lamb.
But I have nothing interesting to say. But I can provide facts gleaned randomly from Wikipedia.
The Missouri Bootheel is the most southeastern part of the state of Missouri.
Sports tourism refers to travel for the sake of either viewing or participating in a sporting event[1] staying apart from their usual environment.
The "Twelve Apostles" were a group of Venezuelan businessmen close to President Carlos Andrés Pérez.
Its never occured to me NOT to comment on people's blogs...Just seems polite I suppose to ackowledge them for the time they have taken to craft something that has diverted and entertained me, whether it be heavy duty book discussion or a picture of a cat with a yoghurt pot on its head
besides, seeing as most people post under a pseudonym, don't see what there is to be scared of...even in the unlikely event that you wrote something REALLY stupid it's hardly likely that people are going to find out where you live and then come round to your house and sit outside pointing and sniggering every time you walk past
Also, commenters like comments on their comments. Nothing is as heart warming as chiseling out a beautiful little bon mot from all the many words that are not my bon mot and then having that comment recognized. Nearly as good is having it attacked.
Of course, the apotheosis is to get a comment on your comment on a comment.
Where I was raised, blog posts are simply a black felt backdrop against which a comment sparkles.
Yes, we need more comments!
Quite right. I agree with all of the above, although I have a few reservations about Wikipedia facts.
I used to comment on your blog but then I stopped, I can't really explain why that is, perhaps I should start again.
Of course you should, Kev. And at the Dabbler too. Susan and Monix are right. Worm - you're one of the good ones.
David - will this do?
A little on the nose, don't you think?
Imagine a blog so perfect that it has no posts, only comments.
I read ToE and The Dabbler every day, because both are an excellent use of my time.
However, I rarely comment. Mostly, this is due to my being so profoundly ignorant of art, music, and popular culture that the word "profound" needs several additional syllables along that line to get even close.
Then there is the not inconsiderable problem that the majority of the comments are so clever that anything I might add would remind everyone else of toppling a dessert trolley in the midst of an aria.
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