So I got an anonymous (read cowardice) comment that my blog is boring.
Now I can see where my blog would be boring for the un-intended audience. But I think there are a few things to consider.
I'm new to blogging and I've only written like 60 something posts. It's going to take me a while to find my writing groove, which is one reason why I'm in the blog-a-thon with my friends. I feel by forcing myself to write a little something every day, and not just when "something exciting happens," it will help me become a better blogger faster. Not to mention that it will help my writing improve in general.
Every writer can't be Pulitzer worthy and we can't all live exciting lives like a Bond super spy. That doesn't mean that they are any less important to the total existence of the universe. After all, cotton is the "fabric of our lives" and it has got to be the most boring fabric around. And frankly I'm not sure I could handle the stress of an uber exciting life.
I also believe that when it comes to critiquing art, literature, music, blogs, podcast, etc., consideration has to be given to who the intended audience is suppose to be and what the purpose of the creation is. In my case, the intended audience is my family and friends and the purpose is to keep them informed about what is going on in my life. So if one wants to genuinely critic my work, they need to look at on these merits. Is this blog keeping my friends and family informed about my life?
And the answer would be yes based on the emails, phone calls, and face-to-face conversations I have with them. Mr. (or Ms.) Anonymous obviously is not a part of this intended audience. If they were, they wouldn't think that the blog was boring and if they did, they would have the guts to tell me that they thought it was.
It's one thing to have a boring blog and it's one thing to think a blog is boring. Both are fine. But what kind of pathetic life does one have to lead to take the time to comment on the fact? When I find a blog I think is boring I move on and forget about them.