Some bloggers draw more comments than others. Some blog posts draw more comments than other posts. I don't understand why. I read a number of blog authors every day. I am jealous of those who get a lot of responses, comments, every day. It's like that popular kid at school. You like him or her, everyone seems to, but you are also a bit envious.
It's not an evil kind of jealous. It's not resentful. It's more a "why can't I be liked as much?" sort of thing. Jealousy, envy, of that sort is turned inward. It should drive you to work a little harder, do a little more, dig a little deeper for that spark , that certain something, which will shine a little brighter, draw a tad more attention to you.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players"
(read all of the piece at http://www.artofeurope.com/shakespeare/sha9.htm)*
Ah, Shakespeare... the man was a master of wordplay. Imagine the power of his blog if he was alive today. Assuming he would bother with such trifles. Which he probably would. Because genius seems to be prolific by nature. It doesn't allow itself to be hidden or restricted. It seeks every avenue of expression.
Maybe. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe only genius coupled with ego does that. And there is a competitiveness involved. It drives people to be in the public eye, to seek awards (so they can humbly accept them), to win acclaim.
When I was in junior high, I took a speech and drama class. I quickly found I hated to make speeches. It was not so much having to stand up in front of the class and speak as it was to assemble the speech and then give it that bothered me. If I could recite a speech or poem or short story someone else wrote, I had little trouble. My mouth was not so dry, my hands not so shaky, my words not so faltering as they tumbled from my lips..
That class also allowed me to experience acting. My memory was excellent then so remembering my lines was no problem and I had no fear of forgetting them. The lines were written by someone else so all I had to do was recite them... with the proper feeling... and fit them into the tempo of the lines of the other players...
As I recall, I did that well enough. I don't recall much, if any, stage fright the two evenings we performed the play. Oddly, I don't recall anything about the plot or story beyond the fact that it took place at a summer camp and I was a supporting player, "Jokey Stephen".
But I got a taste of what it is like to get applause, or laughs, from strangers that you cannot see. Whose eyes you cannot look into.
And isn't that what drives actors, writers, singers, all entertainers? Aren't they really there for the applause?
Isn't that what comments are?
* The Shakespeare monologue from "As You Like It" really isn't about my subject so much as it is about the seven stages of a man's life.
A Night Unremembered
6 years ago