The Secret Life of Blog Posts


Once posted, your blog entries develop a life of their own, for better or for worse. Some wither and die, others flourish and keep attracting attention. It took me a while to realize I have at least some control over this.
 
Early in my blogging days, pleased with my own creativity, I often attempted to give wise-cracking names to my blog posts. I thought I was making  them sound intriguing, when in fact I was obscuring the issue at hand, and making it needlessly difficult for potential readers to find stuff that I desperately wanted them to read.

Looking back at my list of posts, I myself can’t figure out what some of them are about, judging from the title alone. Why be cryptic? Why be a smart-Alec? (What’s the feminine of ”smart Alec”? Smart Alexa? Smarty Pants?) 
Here are a few examples:
When will they ever learn? [Learn what? What are you getting at?]
Some respect for the dead [Er... what are you talking about?]
Suspicious minds [Are you referring to that Elvis Presley song? No? What a pity!]  

Yes, okay, after reading the posts the titles do make sense. But that’s not good enough. 
Looking back, I can see why certain posts keep getting hits, by web surfers who have absolutely no interest in what I have to say. It’s the blog title, of course. One such case is my late sister’s story, which I uploaded as tribute to her memory. The poor girl died 29 years ago, and the number of people who still remember and love her is dwindling. The story is titled 405 South. So yes, lots of people looking for driving directions involving this route innocently click the link when it comes up in their search results. I bet that, when they see it’s a piece of nightmarish fiction by a dead girl rather than matter-of-fact, helpful directions of how to get from X to Y, they grimace and move on. I bet not one of them got distracted, took the digression, and actually read the story.
[On the other hand, an old friend of my late sister’s, who’d lost touch and didn’t know what became of her, Googled her name and had a nasty shock.]

Like most bloggers(?), I often go to my Stats page to see who’s been reading what, which of my posts is popular, etc. Do you want to know which is the Numero Uno big hit? From my first posts in March 2008 to the present? Of all the subjects I’ve ever covered, some of them pretty important to me and my readers, the winner is “Obliphica oil: What's in a name?" ; a trivial rant about the name obliphica, which I found objectionable. It garnered more hits by far than any other post. I guess lots of people Googled the word, perhaps wanting to know where they could get this fad oil at the best price. And they couldn’t care less that I thought the name was silly.

Another post with a misleading name is An Open Letter to the Grievance Committee. Unsuspecting souls looking for info on a local grievance committee to whom they could complain about some injustice, say, found a post that had nothing to do with any actual grievance committee; it was a post strictly relevant to freelance translators and editors who are put in an uncomfortable situation by clients. An important post, in my opinion, to me and my colleagues. But giving it an inappropriate  title was a mistake.

In recent months I have tried to make the names of my blog posts less “clever” and more to-the-point, making sure they contained a relevant, informative key word or phrase.
 E.g.: Kindle, cataract surgery, tips for lectures and presentations, Linked In, etc.

Puns are great fun, and if you can make a pun and still get your message across loud and clear – great, go for it. But if you want readers far and wide to find you because of what you have to say – keep it simple. 

The amazing Arthur C. Clarke

No matter how good non-fiction is, when I'm done with one or two, I usually crave a dose of fiction. By which I generally don't mean a contemporary best-seller. So when I finished the superb, thought provoking Thinking, Fast And Slow / Daniel Kahneman, I reached for the sci-fi shelf. And this is what I jotted down, as I read the slim volume I picked up:


Arthur C. Clarke
Childhood’s End (first published: 1953)
Interesting plot and characters. Unforeseen plot development.
As a reader mentioned on Amazon, this is not a typical Arthur C. Clarke sci-fi novel, in the sense that it isn’t based on hard scientific research. It’s more in the realm of fantasy-sci-fi. It has a lyrical quality, it has supernatural beings, and it makes a philosophic point that is at odds with the one usually espoused by Clarke. But all that is beside the point I wanted to make:
The funny thing is – like with many other futuristic, sci-fi novels – that sci-fi writers, no matter how brilliant, did not foresee or dream of such things as the internet, ebooks, email, mobile phones that are in effect handheld computers that can do tons of complicated stuff; text messages, e-photos, and more. Humanity could be so advanced, technically/mechanically; yet they still get their info in the form of paper, tons of it; they’re still stuck with clunky fax machines, and any serious computers are huge and take up entire rooms.

In terms of the effect of technology on humans and their daily life, Clarke’s 1956 novel, The City and the Stars, tells a different story. But, since I read it 10 years ago, in Feb 2002, I must confess I don’t remember the details, and only have the brief note I wrote to myself at the time:

Feb. 2002
Arthur C. Clarke  - The City and the Stars 
Amazing SF, especially considering when it was written (1956). The breadth of vision and the scientific insight and foresight are amazing. When it comes to human nature – nu, we've read better. The predominance of the male point of view, seeing the entire universe as a man's domain, with women only an adjunct, is typical of its time (and much later times.)
 ------ 
As it happens, half-way through Childhood's End, I came across the following newspaper article, which made me smile, because it described the up side of today's technological advances: No Flying Cars, but the Future is Bright, wrote Virginia Postrel. I find that a very comforting thought.



Have you read either of the above Arthur C. Clarkes? Both? Any comments?


Renovations, what a beautiful word!

Renovate. What a beautiful word. To make something new again. To give it back youth, beauty. Even if it wasn't beautiful to begin with. Restore. Give back life. Such a noble, optimistic concept. Refurbish isn't bad, either. But I like the Latin sound of re-novare better.

Shame reality is such a drag...  Not the fault of the word, of course. The pretty word creates lovely, hopeful expectations. And then you come up against reality: Noise: drilling, banging, hacking, sawing, tearing down. Dirt: debris, sand, stone, glass, rusty pipes, dust, dust, and more dust. 


In Hebrew, at least, the word doesn't sound so inviting, to my ear at least: le'shapetz -- to renovate; shiputzim -- renovations; shiputznik -- the handyman who does the actual work. 


One of these days I'll have a third blog up and running, dedicated to all sorts of stuff that goes through my head, and that has nothing to do with language (writing, translation, editing etc -- the original objects of this here blog) or with travel (the proclaimed object of
Nina Makes Tracks. That third blog will be called Nina Tracks Changes because, let's face it, everything else comes under the heading of "change". Life, the universe and everything comes under change. No change, ergo no life. But until then, I'm reduced to all manners of subterfuge to sneak unrelated topics into one of my two existing blogs.

Enough apologizing.


Where was I? Yes, renovations, noise, dust.


Four years ago we renovated our kitchen. I
documented key points in the process on Flickr. As renovations go, I am told that we had it easy: reliable contractor/shiputznik who had a plan and stuck to it. When the job was done and we said our goodbyes, we told him that we'd be needing his services again at some point to redo our bathroom. 
But we kept putting it off.
Now -- as the shiputznik drills in the adjacent wall behind me, the walls shudder and dust floats in the air, getting into my keyboard, my hair, my nostrils -- it is very obvious why. Who wants to go through that nightmare again???

But at some point, iron pipes installed over 35 years ago die a horrible death, door-frames exposed to the elements rot, pink bathroom tiles go out of fashion (if they ever were in fashion) and look ridiculous. Not to mention scrub-resistant mold spots. So one day I finally picked up the phone and called Micha, the shiputznik of yore. He was astounded that I'd kept his number.

Off with those pink tiles!

We are towards the end of Day 2, but it feels like it's been going on for much, much longer. 
Dirt, dust, mess, tools all over the place. Even my study, which I thought was safe from destruction if not from noise, has suffered the ignominy of ripped tiles, to reveal rotting pipes:


Not to mention that we rely on friends and neighbors for showering. (Let's ignore our toilet solutions.)


But look! The tiles have arrived! Surely that's a good sign?...

 With this happy thought to sustain me, I shall escape from my study while my eardrums are still relatively intact.