In an attempt to better connect with my readers and any future readers in the blog world, I’ve decided to create an Instagram account just for my blog. I didn’t think you guys wanted to see pictures of my dinner, or clouds and shit. 

So, I’ve created @fattymccupcakes_blog just for my blog and followers. 

If you have an Instagram and you are so inclined, follow me. Huzzah! 

  Pinterest, thank you for the endless memes that make me really question life. In answer to this question, I have no idea! Yikes…

Simply, Thank You

I was hoping to reblog the post When bloggers go MIA by Aunty Cath, but she must not have the “reblog” setting. I will share a screen shot of her post instead:


I am extremely humbled and honored that I’m being recognized in other writer’s blogs. After doing this blogging thing for precisely 58 days (WordPress counts in days, I guess), I never would have thought I’d have the amount of followers and attention I have presently.

I am not entirely new to blogging. As many of my Facebook friends know, I started blogging when I moved to BFE, AKA Elko, way back in 2007. Saying it was hard for me to leave my friends, family, and favorite Cold Stone, is putting it mildly. I decided to write about the foibles of a “city girl” living in a cow town. It was met with loads of support from my loved ones, but I had not one “outside” follower. I didn’t really understand how to put myself “out there” or network at all. I wrote as a therapeutic way to handle my new life of falling into cattle guards and being held up on the main road by slow-as-molasses ranchers. It was a way to express myself, yes, but more so a way to remain sane. I miss that small, comfortable, infuriating town more than I can express (that’s a totally different story, though).

As mentioned, I had loyal followers who were close family and friends. Secretly, I wondered if they were so supportive merely because they loved me, not based on my literary merit. Sure, my mom laughed so hard she cried upon reading my posts, and my best friend said she “peed a little” while reading my writing, but was it really because I was good? I want to emphasize, that I, in no way, am discrediting the opinions and comments of loved ones, just sharing a little of my innate insecurity. One of my longtime loyal followers is a writer herself, so I suppose I didn’t need to feel too insecure.

I guess I always believed I wouldn’t be a “real writer” until I began garnering support from strangers. More importantly, from other writers. Most humbly, I have gotten an immense amount of support from the blog world. It was terrifying to put myself out there, in such a naked and real way, which was why I played like I didn’t care how many followers I got. So, in the case that I would totally fall on my face, I could brush it off like I wasn’t doing it for the attention. Now I sound like I really am doing it for the attention *back peddling*.

Let me be real, there is a delicious spark of electricity that runs up my spine, that creates a euphoric high as I start reeling in the “likes” and followers after posting. It’s addictive and probably as good as a cocaine high (notice how I said, “probably”?). I have been trying not to let myself get so wrapped up in the “likes” and the amount of followers. Yet, how does one get their writing seen without readers? Skating the fine line between blogging for the enjoyment versus the attention is treacherous, and I’m still learning how to keep my balance.

With all this said, I’m eternally grateful to my loyal, longtime followers, those who have been reading my work since Elko. I am also so excited for the connections I’m making in the blogging world. I get to read posts from people all the way from India to Australia. I am also very lucky that such a diverse group of people relate to the crazy topics I write about.

I have been told that I am not a real writer until I get a book published, and my ex couldn’t stand my humor, but you can’t win them all. I’m simply going to cherish the people who support me, and continue to write, and create. It’s all I can do. It’s all I must do.