I didn’t know what a troll was until one came to my site.
His strong negative reaction to a post was a dead give away. He implied I should be arrested. Wonderful.
To me, trolls were strange, little garden statues. Wait, that’s gnomes. Told you I didn’t know what they were.
Let’s try that again.
To me, Trolls was a bar in the basement of a building across the parking lot from my sorority house in college. Smelled like beer. Had foosball tables and booths. Became the second living room of the sisterhood. The one where alcohol and boys were allowed.
That was Trolls, until Mr. Meanie came a calling on my blog. I was crushed. I feared he would key Cranberry Mary. Stick pins in a voodoo doll of me. Or worse.
My husband, the calming force in our home, told me it would be okay. The comment wasn’t that bad.
You know, he’s right. I’m small change on the blogosphere. I have it easy. Upon further research, I discovered there are entire sites devoted to dissing other people’s sites. Meanies, every one.
Who has time for this? I can barely keep the wheels on my own blog, much less create another one to ridicule, criticize, or spew at people.
Then last week, a twist. I’d been following this Blogger who shall remain nameless. That’s Blogger with a capital B.
Blogger enjoys an enormous following. I like Blogger, but Blogger writes things with which I disagree about topics that matter to me.
I first read Blogger when a friend sent me a link a few weeks ago. In response, I submitted my comment of respectful disagreement.
The next week, I visited Blogger’s site to be rankled by another post. I submitted my comment of respectful disagreement.
Then last week, I read a post by Blogger on a popular website. Blogger was once again wrong (surprise). I submitted my comment of respectful disagreement.
This time something went horribly awry. The captcha bit me. The queue malfunctioned. My comment appeared multiple times. Like a broken record. On a major site. In response to Blogger with a capital B.
Immediately, I contacted the site to correct the mistake. Prayed no one noticed the fumble from small change on the blogosphere.
That’s when it hit me. Each time I read Blogger’s work, I get upset enough to lodge a complaint. No matter how respectful I am, my response is still negative.
This may be Blogger’s modus operandi. Stir the pot. Salt the wounds. Elicit a response. Spike the stats. Who knows? Doesn’t let me off the hook. I was becoming a troll.
If you come here to my itty bitty blog, and what you read repeatedly upsets you, gets your panties in a wad, sends your blood pressure soaring—well, against all blogging wisdom about building an audience, I would probably suggest you not come back.
Lively discussion in the comments is welcome. But I bristle at my blog being a source of upset for readers. Challenge, maybe. Upset, not so much.
Don’t know if I’ll continue to read Blogger. Sure Blogger has impressive stats. But Blogger brings out the troll in me. That’s not acceptable. Trolls in my life will best remain a memory of a bar in the basement of a building across the parking lot from my sorority house in college.
If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth. But if we confess our sins to Him, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness. 1 John 1:8-9 NLT
Choke me in the shallow water before I get too deep. What I Am by Edie Brickell & New Bohemians.