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I’m Tired, Overwhelmed and Confused.

What evil spirit prompted me to check my “likes” on May I Hug

That website. My first born, the child of my heart, the one linked to Facebook.

I gave that infant all my love. My attention. My affection. My time.

I spent hours finding suitable photos and music videos to dress her up. Yes, she’s a girl.

In fact, I probably spent more time on finding just the right video, the right music, than I did on writing. Rightly or wrongly. “They”, whoever “they” may be, say pictures are more powerful than words. And those headlines, oh, those “very important” headlines!

I built up a nice little following but very little interaction.

Which I understand. People are busy. And not everyone will like everything you do.

The Writers’ World is a lonely one.

A Writer Friend suggested I join another publishing platform.

I could publish my stories myself or, if lucky, find a publication that would accept my work and publish on my behalf. Trial and Error became second and third courses after Disappointment as a starter.

But I persevered.

It became a sibling to my website. Younger, different.

I did one of three things:

  • Cross post.

  • Modify significantly. Then post.

  • Write something completely different.

It depended what I thought would get the best reaction. What would people want to read.

That thought should have brought me up short. It didn’t.

I was no longer writing from the heart. I was “catering.”

But the biggest difference was that this new sibling immediately got new friends. Readers “liked” her. Readers “responded.” Readers “interacted!”

Note, the sibling is, once again, a girl.

I tried not to show favoritism, but I probably did. I started spending more time with this new “child” than with my firstborn.

I discovered it was much easier to write for this infant. I eventually stopped “catering” and once again was writing from the heart.

And so, it came about, while sitting at Orlando airport waiting for a flight, that I played on my phone. And tripped over a link on my firstborn.

A steep curve of “UNLIKES!” And no new “likes.”

And I’m hurt. I can’t think what I’d possibly done to upset anyone. I shouldn’t care. But I do.

A Writer’s Ego is a fragile thing.

Think of the Little Pig and the House of Straw. One puff can blow one down.

I took to researching and saw a glimmer.

Those “unlikes” could’ve belonged to fake websites that were taken down.


It could be someone I invited to like my page and they, feeling kindly, did so. Only to realize that this was not their thing and thus “unliked.”

It could be any number of reasons.

I remind myself that I don’t like everything I read. But when I don’t care for something, I don’t “unlike.” I just scroll through.

There were the times I really cared for a writer. After a year my tastes had changed. Or matured. Or something.

And so, I’d move on to something, someone, else.

But I don’t “unlike” the original writer.

Because being “unliked” hurts.

And my newborn is waiting in the wings.

Cyber Hugs my friends. More to come about where I’m going. Or not.

\Photo from Pexels

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