Every year around now, a large chunk of blogosphere real estate is turned over to posts, tweets, Facebook status updates, and Flickr albums about a gathering called BlogHer. As the conference title suggests, the focus in on women who blog — it’s apparently attended by a number of guys, as well — and for the several days of BlogHer, attendees take in workshops and panel discussions, attend parties, and go out with friends to take in the sights of that year’s city. (This year, earlier this month, it took place in New York City.)
I’ve never gone to BlogHer, and never expect to, although I follow and admire the bejeezus out of maybe a half-dozen of the BlogHerers (?) with wide name recognition (Maggie, The Bloggess, Kelly…) and make occasional trips through the takeout windows of another half-dozen or so.
There are a few reasons while I’ll probably never get there:
In the first place, although I really like one thing or other about their writing, what they write about is not what I write about. These are honest-to-God writers, whose talent I wouldn’t mind having a thimbleful of, but as a rule they don’t post about writing as such, or about books or music for that matter. They generally, with occasional exceptions, post about everyday life, frequently about raising their kids, getting along with their spouses, being suddenly single, battling domestic abuse and other personal tragedies…*
…and they’re young. I’ve never seen a survey, but a careful browse through some of those Flickr sets positions the center of the bell curve at around 30 years of age, maybe a little older, and another plus or minus 10 years encompasses 90% of those in attendance. (A few statistical outliers are in evidence, sure, but by and large that I can even see these exceptions among the crowds tells me how, uh, exceptional they really are.) They’re still in the bloom of excitement about the decades ahead of them. They’re still getting used to the idea that they can write, and are jazzed about that feeling. They’re driven. They’re not just young: they’re determinedly, powerfully young.
Finally, well, they’re… they’re gregarious.
I imagine a prehistoric ancestor who shared 99.9999% of my DNA something like this: He played a key role in the hunt by encouraging the spearmen, reassuring them about their supreme spearmanship, and wishing them well as they set out after the nearest mastodon, unable to accompany them because he himself, alas, had a prior engagement. He played a key role after the mastodon banquet by bucking up the spirits of those who had to clean up, pointing out that no one, in his experience, had ever washed the bark platters or swept a cave floor quite so professionally, and no one had ever done such an outstanding job hauling away the gnawed-up bones to the locations where future paleontologists would be most likely to find them. Although he had a prior engagement and thus couldn’t actually, you know, help, he’d hand them the exact cleanup tools they needed. (“Did you remember to sign ’em with a couple telltale whacks with a pointed implement? Yes? Attaboy!“)
Only he would not, y’know, have been visibly interacting with them during the meal itself.
He’d wait for everybody else to hack off their portions, first. They’d be all lined up with their big flat bark plates in their hands, telling jokes, recalling the excitement of the hunt, yelling to the one a few places in front not to hog the shank. He’d hang back, maybe filling and draining his coconut once or twice. Then he’d take his time picking through the remains. With his own sheet of bark or slate piled high, he’d find an empty seat as far back against the wall as possible.
And he’d eat, watching the rest of them. Laughing at their jokes. Oh, he’d be comfortable talking to one or two of them at a time. But here at the MastodonCon he’d just be envying them: wishing that he, like them, could carry on a conversation flowing back and forth across the rocks among a dozen people at once — or even serially, one at a time. (He’d just about work up the nerve to approach someone when someone else, with a better-developed left cerebral hemisphere and probably with silkier fur, would interpose him- or herself. My ancestor would slink back to his place along the wall, as quietly as possible, so as not to embarrass anyone.)
Emily Dickinson wrote:
The Soul selects her own Society —
Then — shuts the Door —
To her divine Majority —
Present no more —Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing —
At her low Gate —
Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat —I’ve known her — from an ample nation —
Choose One —
Then — close the Valves of her attention —
Like Stone —
The “her” there doesn’t mean this applies strictly to women, of course. And it’s true: in large groups, whether institutional or social, I find that I tend to gravitate toward two or three or maybe a dozen of the people I encounter, and then stop looking for new ones. (This is as true of my online as my offline self.) When the ones I’ve singled out are busy elsewhere, I just wander off for a while — nodding politely, laughing vicariously, and waiting for one of the ones I already “know” to heave into view, momentarily unattached. I do a lot of waiting; I don’t mind.
So now I’m trying to imagine a blogging conference tailored to people like me…
…I guess it would have to be attended by no more than a dozen or maybe two dozen people, people who already pretty much knew one another’s minds. Most importantly, they’d have to be people willing to carry on a conversation — however intermittently — about almost anything. No one would object if any one person opted out of any one group activity. No one would have to talk about everything. A certain amount of wallflowery wouldn’t be encouraged, exactly — but it wouldn’t be unexpected, either.
My conference, I suppose, would have to be a BlogIt. It wouldn’t be held annually, except by accident, but pretty much whenever I (or anyone else) felt like it. Maybe even a couple times a week.
Oh. Right. I guess that does sound like blogging itself, doesn’t it?
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* I have encountered the term “mommyblogger” and must say, I loathe it. Not only does it sound condescending, in ways that (say) “politicoblogger” or “techblogger” do not; not only does it ignore the fathers among them; it also dismissively waves away the sheer quality of the writing (to say nothing of the quantity) offered up by these people.
DarcKnyt says
I’ve heard a lot of folks reference this BlogHer thing; very interesting to hear it’s an honest-to-goodness convention.
You know what? I think you and I would share a common ancestor. I don’t know if mine would be so kind and encouraging, though — my direct genetic donors certainly weren’t — but the rest of it, in all its wallflowery awesomeness? Oh yeah. Dead on.
See you at the con, JES. ‘Less you see me first, I reckon. ;)
marta says
First, I just noticed that great logo by the NYWC you’ve got over on the sidebar. Why haven’t I noticed it earlier? I quite like it.
Second, I’m all for the encouragement, but I generally hate conferences, seminars, parades, team-building exercises, and the like. Even concerts I like only if I really, really like the band (You know, I went to see Crowded House recently. But concerts usually don’t interest me.) The only time, and I do mean the only time, I’ve ever enjoyed any kind of group meeting is NaNoWriMo.
I think the reason I like that is because the writing groups are diverse and they’re about actually creating something, anyone is welcome, it is free (no small point), and you can sit quietly in the corner and that is what you’re supposed to do!
Last year I read an argument against BlogHer. I’m sure there are good reasons for it, but I could see the writer’s point of view.
And for the record, I hate the term mommyblogger.
The Querulous Squirrel says
I used to follow this whole “MommyBlog” trend for about a year, out of curiousity. It’s quite the cliquey hierarchy you would expect in high school. The ones who do it picked out the name themselves and like it. They all have little kids and mostly talk about being mommies. They seem lonely for adult company and I think the BlogHer conference is their social event of the year, when the BlogQueens and BlogGeeks can finally meet their friends. It reminds me of a gigantic PTA meeting and I imagine I would feel there the way I felt at PTA: totally out of it regardless of my kids’ ages. I was just never the kind of parent who could focus all my conversation on my kids. Never carried pictures of them in my wallet. Or on my desk at work. Bad Mommy. They probably would refuse me entrance.
The Querulous Squirrel says
http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/2007/07/23/inflammatory-breast-cancer/
This is the best of all “mommy blogs” as the mother is also a NASA scientist and is battling horrific breast cancer. She attracts the entire blogging mom network. If you can’t find them among her comments, they don’t exist.
The Querulous Squirrel says
I meant to add, but it didn’t take, is the mommyblog Toddler Planet. Amazing NASA scientist with two boys who has been suffering very fatal breast cancer for a few years. Everyone who comments on her blog is pretty much the core network of the “mommyblogging” community. She is a miraculous individual.
John says
Darc: “‘Less you see me first” — ha! Yeah, we’d be all like competing for the farthest, dimmest corner.
marta: I actually noticed a few days ago that the NYWC logo I’d been using had been dropped, so all that was showing in that spot was this sort of weird brown rectangle. Rummaged around their site until I found a new one. It is great, isn’t it?
You’ve talked about NaNoWriMo before. As with BlogHer, I envy people who take comfort in group activities, especially those requiring that you meet new people. When The Missus and I were in a workshop, 15 years or so ago, at one point someone had to drop out for other commitments, and we needed to find a replacement. The person that was proposed had several advantages, among them that The Missus and another workshop member already knew and liked him. I argued against this, on the grounds that “I don’t need any new friends.” Which makes me sound weird and anti-social — which is only half-right — but, well, there you have it.
The Querulous Squirrel says
Our exclusive blog club is exclusively for weird and antisocial people. And we do background checks at class reunions.
John says
Squirrel: Well, as I say, I don’t follow a lot of them. The ones I do follow seem incredibly level-headed, and, again, awfully good writers to boot; my online life feels richer for including them.
The complication for me arises, I think, from their very gregariousness: each is one step away from two or three who are just a tiny tiny incremental bit less level-headed, and so on. By the time my favorites have been blogging for a few years, the diffuse mass of fans around them sort of dilutes their impact… unless I make a point of focusing only on the dots at the center. (I may be overdoing the metaphor there.)
Thanks for adding that follow-up about Toddler Planet, which I’m unfamiliar with. (The downside of wearing blinders: one does miss some gems.)
marta says
@John –
I’m just making it clear that NaNo is the only social group I’ve enjoyed. Brownies, Girls Club–awful. Don’t even get me started on sororities. My mother-in-law LOVES groups and social networking and she can’t believe that I don’t. She always invites me to different ones so that my feelings aren’t hurt.
The reason NaNo works is that most everyone involved is a social oddball. It is the only place I’ve seen socially awkward people socialize well. And that may be a matter of the woman who is in charge. She’s good a getting people together without being the cheerleader, pushy, type.
Anyway, teaching has made me be a bit better at socializing. Just a tiny bit. And I’ve got to be more out there to sell my art. Really, though. I like my corner.
John says
Squirrel P.S.: I bet those background checks could fuel some kicking little ficciones, hmm?
As for the reunion, I’m picturing an account which starts something like: “Franz Kafka, Flannery O’Connor, David Lynch, and Diane Arbus met in the parking lot, linked arms, and entered the hall together…”
John says
marta: Yeah, it’s not fair for me to have any opinions at all about NaNoWriMo. I suspect the offline encounters during that month indeed work well… in places like NYC, Cambridge, Austin, and so on.
From time to time I think how nice it would be to go to one of those writers’ colonies, like Yaddo, for a couple weeks. I’m sure the living arrangements, and maybe even the contract, stipulates that you can do as much or as little mingling as you want — all the way to none at all. But then I wonder how realistic that is. Again without any actual knowledge to go on, I imagine an environment something like a Zen cruise, with the recreation director whistling us to tai chi and synchronized-raking group sessions before sending us back to our huts to create.
When writers (including me) talk about the angsts associated with the query system, part of me tries to remember: At least we’re not trying to sell works of art using that system. I don’t envy your having to deal with both!
John says
Squirrel: found (and restored) your original Toddler Planet comment, which for some reason had found its way to the spam lint trap.
Nance says
Hell, you know I’m in for BlogIt, brother.
Funny thing: I was writing a post about what stops people from going after what’s calling to them (be it POTUS or lowly blog-novice), and I knew I wanted to name yours as a blog voice I admire, so I schlepped over to the top couple of posts, knowing I’d find a quote to illustrate my point.
And, as predicted, it wasn’t hard.
And I love the superhero piece at the top of the pile today. I’d listened to the latest “This American Life” podcast last night about Zora the Super Lister. Straight out of ComicCon, only she suffers from a touch of social anxiety disorder. But then, all the best superheroes have vulnerabilities we can all sympathize with. A few even have some we can’t, but that wouldn’t be you.
Nance says
@The Querulous Squirrel – Squirrel, have you ever checked out B. Hockey J? He’s one of the daddy bloggers who, I find, write better than most of the mommies–probably because so many of them are writers who can work from home while their wives go out to jobs. I’ve been reading BHJ for about three weeks. He’s nothing if not riveting. And he went to BlogHer, incidentally doing some intimidating distance running while in the city.
John says
Nance: Thank you so much for both the above comments and for including me in the post over at Mature Landscaping.
(You do recognize the irony, don’t you, that someone who insists he “doesn’t want any new friends” might get a little frisson from being mentioned on someone else’s blog? :))
B Hockey J (originally “Black Hockey Jesus”!) was one of those bloggers linked to by every other blogger I was crazy about… and whom I opted not to read on a regular basis, in a sort of “Enough!” spasm. The last post of his that I read (and of course was crazy about) was called “Little Gods,” from back in July. For anyone without children, it’s one of those cautionary tales; for anyone with, on the other hand, it’s no doubt a trigger for much nodding of the head. And hilarious to boot.
Ashleigh Burroughs says
BlogIt sounds exactly like what I was hoping that BlogHer would be….. You organize it, I’m there.
The chance to have an actual conversation with a person who values words and isn’t looking to rack up more friends on Facebook…. joy, rapture.
I am so there.
a/b
John says
a/b: What a nice thing, to see you here. We’ve sort of strolled past each other a few times over at Nance’s place, nodding amicably — as you know, fresh boon companions (unlike air-quote “friends”) are always important (and difficult) to find, and a little flag goes up in my head when I suspect a new one might be in the vicinity.
I’d trademark or otherwise register “BlogIt” but suspect it already infringes on the real thing. Er, well, that — plus it’s already in use. Darn.
Ashleigh Burroughs says
Thanks, John ;) Yes, I’ve seen you lurking at Mature Landscaping, too. Can’t believe it took me so long to click over here. I’ll be back; how can I ignore a man who lists John McPhee in his pantheon??
a/b
John says
a/b: One of these days, I really need to do a McPhee post. I so much admire what the man can wring from a phrase.
For the record, I tried to drop a comment over at your place but the comment form defeated me… or rather, the comment form, in concert with The Employer’s erratic Web-blockery. They’ve apparently decided that while The Burrow itself is just fine, the comment-form portion of it is at a “personal Web site” and must be screened. It’s something like if the world of 1984 were under the control of Professor Irwin Corey. All of which means I’ll have to wait to comment until I’m at the home PC.