Where have they gone?

I’m starting to wonder if the novelty of my writing has worn off on people. I’ve watched my readership numbers steadily decline over the last few weeks. The story I wrote yesterday, which I thought was a pretty darn good simple story, had seven readers. 

Seven? Really?

Seven? I mean, c’mon.

Seven?

This comes as quite a shock to me considering I thought I had a pretty decent following. It’s weird. It’s not an ego thing. I’m just happy people read anything I write. But it is a little strange to see readership drop by nearly 24 people on average a day. I guess people are just too busy; or too selfish to spend a little time with their literary buddy.

I shouldn’t complain though. I’m lucky to live in such a modern age where the ramblings of an idiot like me can be sent through the internet tubes and wires all over the world with just a few clicks of a mouse and the tapping of some keys. It makes me wonder if there were telegraph bloggers way back when. I wonder if there were people that climbed the telegraph poles and tapped out long series of dots and dashes to tell the story of a little girl and her pony on a grand adventure to grandmother’s house only to find the house has been burnt to the ground by venomous zombie ninjas on which she swears a blood oath revenge.

I can imagine the folks at the telegraph office biting their fingernails in anticipation of the next chapter. I’m sure it would have been marvelously received at first but then, after a year, maybe two, the telegraph office might be empty except for a clerk, ignoring the dots and dashes beeping out from the receiver. They lost interest and are all excited about this new telephone thing that’s supposed to be coming from back East.

So fads change, people’s interests change, there’s nothing I can do about that except adapt to the next format and soldier on. Or go on a mad spree of some kind. You know the kind of spree I’m talking about; the kind where you get to use the words, “slather”, and, “body”, and, “Jodie Foster” without worrying about the consequences. Yeah, that’s the kind of spree I’m talking about.

I’m sure no one wants to see that though. Michael on a mad tear through town wearing boxer shorts, a raccoon-skin cap, slathered in Jell-O and heroine, screaming about the juice man and his evil plot to take over Canada with Brazilian car wash employees.  You know, last Saturday.

Ultimately this was about my loyal readers and I appreciate the fact they’ve stuck around and eagerly anticipate the next stirring adventure. So thanks loyal readers, you rule.  To the casual, can’t find the time to read it types, thanks as well, but I’m watching you with deep seated suspicion. That car in front of the house that hasn’t moved in a few days, yeah, you know it. We’re watching.

Seven?