Some Thoughts On Becoming Notable Blog Of TheDay

I didn't seek it. I wasn't expecting it. And as it turns out, I sometimes wish I didn't have it.

Actually it's kind of pretentious to call it fame, but to call it an annoyance doesn't do it justice.

When I first starting posting, Blogger felt like a vast empty soulless place where absolutely no one seemed to notice my existence. No one commented. No one welcomed me.

And I was fine with that. I wasn't looking for community, it was about the writing. He tried telling himself.

Eventually one or two people from blogger began to find me and I would get four or five comments and I kept up writing posts at the rate of three or so a week.

They would comment on my blog, I would visit and comment on theirs and we became a casual little group.

I didn't know blogger had a feature called the "Notable Blog Of The Day" until I visited my site one day and found dozens of comments and that the numbers of followers of my blog had jumped from ten to 300. 300! What the heck?

For the Notable Blog feature, Blogger selects one blog each day to showcase on their home page. For reasons unknown to me, mine was chosen. Actually, since it happened just after New Years Day, I suspect they were short staffed and decided, for just this once, to grab a blog at random!

When I checked the site meter I discovered my blog was being visited at the rate of up to 400 people an hour. Sitemeter estimated that at that rate over 100,000 people would visit my blog by the end of that week.

At first I was delighted, and then I was astonished and then I was a little alarmed, and then I was overwhelmed.

But as the numbers kept building, I began to get cranky. It was taking all of my time just trying to keep up with the number of comments, much less paying return visits to the commenter's blog. Eventually I just gave up trying. Besides it was seriously impairing my ability to keep up with that little group of bloggers who had been with me for months. Not to mention cutting into the limited time I had available to actually write the posts.

Porn sites began leaving innocent looking comments reading something like "Enjoyed your post now come visit mine, love Lacy!" When I would go visit my eyes would fry inside my head, explosions would go off in the back of my brain and smoke would pour out my ears. And yes, my toes would curl up. I would go racing back to the comments section to hit delete, delete, delete!

Yep, I know, I'm no fun at all.

I also started to notice that the average stay for those 400 people was a minute and a half. Since I was transferring posts of approximately 500 words, it would take the average person 4-5 minutes to read them. So more than half the people coming to the site weren't even reading one post.

They were coming to leave their name on a popular site so others would discover them.

Because they wanted their site to become popular. They wanted Fame.

I would have been happy to give them a little of mine.

Suddenly Blogger no longer seemed an empty and soulless place. It felt more like Grand Central Station at rush hour. And I was the guy in the crowd trying to go in the opposite direction to this wave of humanity.

Eventually it began to settle down. I discovered some wonderful new people who write some exciting blogs, many much more elegant and informative than mine. The notable blog feature helped them to find me and allowed me to find them.

The average length of stay for visitors is now 4 minutes, which means the visitors here are actually reading what I write.

So overall the experiences was a positive one. I'm glad it happened, otherwise I wouldn't have found half of you. I'm starting to be able to keep up with the comments and visits back to the blogs of those who visit mine. And that truly enriches my day.

But there were times when the ride felt like it was out of control.

Maybe you noticed?

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

May your most romantic dreams come true.

Pendragon--A Fantasy (Part 5 of 5)

"Here Knave," Guenevere reached out her hand, "come see our world beyond the dank confines of this dreary room."

She gestured for him to join her at the window.

After being confined in a darkened room only half lit by flickering torches, Barry was struck first by the richness of the colour. The fortress had been constructed on the top of a vast hill of rich green grass. At the base of the hill was a small village and beyond that was a massive forest that reached out to the horizon.

The ancient forest reminded him more of his home in Canada than of the rolling grassy hills he associated with England.

The homes in the village were two story thatched roofed dwellings of dark wood whose lentils, cornices and shutters were painted in bright reds and yellows. Every home had its plot of land where vegetables were grown. Geese, chickens and pigs roamed freely while cows were confined to a pasture at the edge of the village. The odd home in the village had a single horse tethered in the yard.

Not far from the village a large river of clear blue water, ominously swollen by the days of ceaseless rain, flowed deep into the interior of the mighty forest. A family of pure white swans swam contentedly in the lee of the strong current.

Emerging from a rough road carved along the water's edge, was a long line of soldiers, all in red cloaks carrying pikes topped with colourful blue banners. At the rear of the column two men pounded on massive kettle drums and the marching soldiers sang to the beat, their clear voices rising all the way to the fortress, with no mechanical sounds to compete with its passage.

Villagers were pouring out of their homes to cheer the arriving soldiers. Men held children on their shoulders, women held the hands of infants. At the head of the long column of soldiers rode a large man on a pure white horse, head held proudly high, his armour more resembling that of a Roman legionaire than a traditional Knight, a great red cloak flowing behind him.

Two hawks lazily circled the village in the skies overhead.

"Its beautiful," Barry stammered.

"Aye," said Arthur thoughtfully. "It is our world and our people and our way of life that we protect. And if, mayhap, it cost us our life, it is small price to pay."

Guenevere grabbed Arthur's hand, "But come my Lord we musts greet our guests!" She implored excitedly.

Arthur smiled and held her hand tightly, amused by her joy, "Aye," He agreed. "Come, let us prepare for our company."

"No, don't go!" Barry almost said, but didn't. He watched Guenevere pull Arthur from the room toward Lancelot with sad foreboding.

As the rest of the Knights shuffled wearily from the room, Merlyn held Barry back.

"A moment Sir," the old magician said.

Barry turned to him.

"You know you may not stay here." The old man whispered, gently. "You bring a falsity to our time that may not be. I know not how you came, but I will reverse that error."

He pointed a rugged stick at Barry whose eyes suddenly rolled back in his head as he collapsed to the floor.

*******************************************************************

Barry opened his eyes to see Linda's anxious face mere inches from his own. "He's coming to," she said.

Diana Gabaldon stood just behind her. "Oh my gosh," she gasped, "You poor man. Are you alright?"

Barry looked around the crowd of astonished faces gathered for Gabaldon's book signing. "Did I pass out?" He asked.

"This stupid bookstore thought it would be amusing to pile copies of my book into pillars representing the standing stones in my novel. And one of the piles fell on top of you. My books tend to run to over a thousand pages, so they're no light-weight. I've heard of people falling asleep reading them, but they've never knock anyone unconscious, until now."

"I had the strangest dream," said Barry in wonderment. "I dreamed I was back in the time of King Arthur. And it was a terrible place. Dark and smoky and dirty. The round table was a cart wheel on a barrel and there were rats and the knights all had fleas."

Gabaldon smiled, "Well that sounds about right for the period. Life expectancy was only about 19 years in those days. Lots of infant mortality but mostly wars and bad hygiene. Cesspools right outside the door, sleeping with their pigs. There was a reason they called it the Dark Ages."

"But it was beautiful too," Barry protested. "The air was so clean, the forests were vast and it was so quiet you could hear people talking a mile away."

"Now you weren't time traveling on me for real, were you?" Diana smiled.

Linda put her arms around him and he laughed ruefully. "We're thinking about our retirement in a couple of years time. And I think this has taught me a few things."

"Such as," Linda prompted.

Barry smiled, "Well, never volunteer for a Diana Gabaldon time travel demonstration, for one. Never judge a place by its reputation, for another. Always wash your hands just like your mother taught you."

"And how about 'There's no place like home?'" Linda asked.

"That too," Barry laughed. He paused and became more thoughtful, "And that some things that look really bad at first, may not be as bad once you start to see the full picture. That human nature is much the same wherever, or whenever, you go. And that there IS nobility in the world. You should have met Arthur. He was so calm yet so strong. he was the centre of everything without even having to move. There was a presence about him."

"You really did bump your head," Linda said, touching a tender lump on his forehead.

"Oh, and I learned one more thing," Barry said earnestly. "I really can speak great Latin. I never knew I could. You should have heard me!"

"Amor et melle et felle est fecundissmismus" said Gabaldon.

"What?" said Barry.

And the two women laughed.



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All images in this series were courtesy of Photobucket

Pendragon--A Fantasy (Part 4 of 5)

"It is new to me," said King Arthur seating himself at the table, "This notion of a healthy place. Healthy people, yes. But a healthy place, what mean you by that Knave? How can a place be healthy or no?"

Barry was rubbing his wrists, so soon freed from their chains, "Well," he said. "I suppose I mean a place congenial to health within a person. Where a person is least likely to contract a disease, has good companions, good food, shelter, safety from harm, has options for interesting things to do. You know, stuff like that. Where people can be happy."

Galahad leaned forward with interest, "What mean you, pray tell, by 'contract a disease'?

One of the two dogs in the room sleeping contentedly by the fire, raised its head and with a roar leaped to its feet. A large rat went scurrying along the edge of the room, the dog at its heels. The two crashed into Percival's chair sending him flying. In the confusion the rat made for the open doorway where the second dog leaped on it and broke its neck. The two dogs then fought over the corpse.

"'Sblood," cursed Percival, getting to his feet. "I hate those cursed things."

"You are not injured, Sir" inquired the King.

"My dignity, only. My Lord,"Percival replied, setting his chair right.

"You have rats in the castle?" Barry was horrified, his gaze fixed on the two dogs biting and snapping over the dead rat. Ignoring the sight, the knights had drifted back into boredom.

"In the castle, in the village rats are everywhere. Is it not so in your time?"

"No. Rats and mice carry disease. And fleas."

Gawain scratched contentedly.

"Have you fleas, sir knight?" Barry asked him.

"We all have fleas, you idiot." Gawain coughed. "They are a curse for our sins."

"But they carry disease. You must bathe to rid yourself of them."

"Bathe? It is not spring, you fool!" grumbled Gawain.

"You don't mean you bathe only once a year?"

"And that at risk to our lives." replied Arthur. "Why knave, do people in your time bathe more often?"

"Daily," the visitor from another time stammered. "And wash our hands more frequently."

Gawain fought back still another cough, "But you wash away your protection against ailment! You will catch a chill and expire. Why place yourself at such risk?"

Barry looked around the room becoming aware of each knight scratching periodically, at the flies on the table top, the mud on the floor, the dirt on each man's hands. The air in the room was fragrant with bodies unwashed for months. Finished with the rat, the two dogs were returning to their place by the fire.

"Indeed, Gawain is right," Galahad shivered. "You place yourself at fearful risk with all that washing!"

"My Lord, sir knights!" Dressed now in a bright red gown of finer material, Guenevere appeared in the doorway to the room. "The rains have stopped and our visitors approach." She crossed the room to the window and threw open the shutter. Light burst in, blinding everyone. Percival opened the shutters to the room's other two windows and looked out.

The knights, bored from inactivity, all moved to the windows, blocking the view from Barry. The haze from the fire and the torches began to thin and a fresh breeze blew through the dank room.

"Who is here?" he asked.

Guenevere turned to him, her young eyes sparkling, "Our allies from Gaul have arrived. Led by brave Sir Lancelot du Lac."

For the first time seeing her face alive with pleasure like the 15 year old she was, Barry began to scratch. Thoughtfully.

"Oh Crap," he muttered to himself.

Pendragon--A Fantasy (Part 3 of 5)

Anon, Fair Maidens, Lords and Common Folk, please be advised you are about to embark on a flight of purest fantasy. Unlike other posts to this blog, it cannot be read as a stand alone, but musts require you to enjoin it at its very beginning, Part One far below.

Having fulfilled that obligation, then be hushed for the curtain lifts and our players take the stage.

***********************************************************

It was only after the vicious swing of Merlyn's staff came to halt mere inches from his skull, that Barry flinched in terror. His feeble attempts to duck hampered by the heavy chains on his wrists.

Merlyn's gaze was unwavering, judging what he saw before him.

"Well," he said after a time. "It's obvious the man is no warrior. As you can see, my liege, his reactions are untrained. Remove his chains, Arthur, whatever we have here is no threat."

Arthur nodded to Percival who sighed, threw back his great cloak and bent to unlock Barry's chains.

As Barry made to rise, Merlyn's staff touched his forehead and pushed him back.

"Nay, sir. A seat in the mud will suit for now." Merlyn began pacing around him again, like a dog around a bear seeking a vulnerability.

"His strange clothing vouchsafes his odd tale," smiled Guenevere. "Have you seen the like Merlyn?"

"I have not my lady." The elderly magician crouched down, his face mere inches from Barry's own, his old man's rancid breath leaking through rotted teeth. "If truly you travel through time, sir, why come you here?"

Barry gathered his thoughts and looked up at Guenevere, "I don't really understand it myself. I hadn't expected time travel to work. It was a joke." he explained. "I guess I had Camelot on my mind because my wife and I plan to retire soon and I've been thinking about the healthiest place to choose. You know, our perfect place. Our Camelot."

Arthur nodded approvingly, "Camelot is the strongest fortress in the land."

"It wasn't a fortress I was thinking of. I just turned 65 and..."

Merlyn's staff whacked him in the forehead. "Don't test our credulity, sir." The old magician hissed. "You can be no more than 35. Our liege is but 24, our knights no more than 19 or thereabouts. Guenevere is but months from 15 though I myself am ancient at 51. We know our ages sir and you cannot be 65."

"No I am 65!" Barry protested with equal vehemence. "In the future we have better sanitation and better medicine. It is not unusual to live to be 80 or 90. That's what makes retirement so difficult to plan. I could well live another 20-25 years."

Arthur was intrigued. "This retirement, you speak of, what is that?"

"Well, you put money aside, the government puts money aside, the company you work for puts money aside and around 65 you stop working and start just enjoying life."

Coughing harshly, Gawain staggered angrily to his feet and began to draw his sword, "I've enough with these lies, my Lord. Let me end this!"

But it was Guenevere who answered, "Nay good Gawain. He amuses me." She turned to Barry. "Sir, I have not much time, we are expecting company. An alliance is to be formed, our guests will soon arrive and I musts change and prepare their greeting. Their herald reached us yesterday. So tell me true, this place, our Camelot is revered in the future?"

Barry nodded gravely, "It is my lady. Camelot is remembered as a nearly perfect land and Arthur the wisest and bravest of Kings. His knights, their ladies and the people lived the best of lives under his reign."

At the back of the room, Galahad voiced his accent. "I've seen worse," he said. "We fight the decline in everything since the departure of Rome in the time of our father's fathers. Then the land was at peace and people lived on splendid estates. Roman senators had estates here and magnificent homes. Now all about us the land returns to mindless violence and decline. The Angles and the Saxons and the Jutes invade from across the channel. We fight to preserve what little civilization is left."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the room and a beating of goblets upon the rounded table top. But Barry could sense the frustration and the weariness beneath the bravado. They were too few and the decline too pervasive.

Guenevere rose, "I must go. Our guests will be cold and wet and weary when they arrive." She curtsied to Arthur, "My liege, my husband, I must go. But keep this man safe. He will amuse our guests this evening, to be sure."

Arthur reached a hand down to Barry, "Come sir, up with you and sit with us at our table. I would speak with you some more. But vouchsafe me this I pray you, there will be no singing from you ever again!"

Pendragon--A Fantasy (Part 2 of 5)

Anon, Fair Maidens, Lords and Common Folk, please be advised you are about to embark on a flight of purest fantasy. Unlike other posts to this blog, it cannot be read as a stand alone, but musts require you to enjoin it at its very beginning, Part One below.

Having fulfilled that obligation, then be hushed for the curtain lifts and our players take the stage.

***********************************************************************

"This can't be Camelot," groaned Barry, wiping the mud from his face and cautiously sitting up in the darkened room. "It can't be like this!"

The knights encircled him, long shadows caste by the flaming torches, they huddled miserably in massive cloaks against the damp and cold. The central table in the room was a slab of wood that appeared to be a wagon wheel tilted on its side.

"It isn't the place of a peasant to tell us what Camelot can or cannot be!" grumbled Sir Gawain from his place closest to the fire.

Merlyn continued to circle the stranger, both horrified and fascinated, his staff always at the ready. "Just how did you picture Camelot?" the old man asked.

"Well built of stone, for a start," Barry began, hesitantly. "In my time, Camalot is still remembered for its physical beauty," Barry's voice stumbled as he looked around the rough cut wooden walls and mud strewn floors of the room. He went on uncertainly, "Camelot is renowned as the embodiment of the ideals of justice, bravery and truth, the virtues Arthur and his knights champion. It's celebrated as the ideal society."

Merlyn was startled and stepped back away from him with a hiss. The knights began to roar with laughter, pounding their wooden goblets on the rough table top.

"Indeed, is this how the serious business of the country is conducted," a woman's voice cut smoothly through the air.

Barry lifted his head to see a slim girl poised in the doorway of the room, an aged hag by her side. The bottom of the girl's skirt was wet with the mud that coated the floors and her greasy blond hair was tied in a braid at her back.

"Today it is, Lady Guinevere" said Arthur calmly. "You see we have a guest."

The young woman advanced quickly into the company of men and glanced down on Barry with a look of scorn. "What this? It looks too pudgy for either work or fight yet has none of the appearance of clergy"

"He is an oddity, to be sure," agreed Arthur. "However it does entertain, of a fashion."

The woman gathered her thread worn skirts and seated herself at the table, leaning forward mischievously. "Why then minstrel, favour me with your song. I would be amused."

Stunned by her request, Barry was uncertain how to respond. To be sure he was no singer. The quiet in the room became frighteningly oppressive. In desperation Barry's wobbling tenor launched into a rough version of Camelot--

It's true! It's true! The crown has made it clear.
The climate must be perfect all the year.

A law was made a distant moon ago here:
July and August cannot be too hot.
And there's a legal limit to the snow here
In Camelot.
The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order, summer lingers through September
In Camelot.
Camelot! Camelot!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre,
But in Camelot, Camelot
That's how conditions are.
The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

The young girl was momentarily speechless. The room was stilled to silence, marred only by the pounding rain and wind.

"Why knave," she stammered. "That was oddly terrible."

"I did say it entertained, after a fashion." Arthur warned. "I didn't know it sang, if singing that was."

"Cute accent though," Guinevere laughed. "Minstrel, you amuse me. How come you here to Camelot?"

Barry looked earnestly up at the taunt, young queen in her home spun ragged dress and attempted to reconcile his image of the regal Guinevere with this thin teenager. "I was at a Diana Gabaldon book signing in Toronto and she asked for a volunteer to demonstrate how the characters in her novels time-travelled to distant locations. My wife volunteered me and next thing I knew I was here."

The fire cracked in the grate. Outside the rain seemed to lessen.

"I know not what to make of gibberish." The young woman said. "Merlyn what say you of this creature?"

"I say this, Lady" Merlyn picked up his staff and suddenly swung it directly at Barry's head.

Pendragon, a Fantasy (Part 1 of 5)

Fair Maidens, Lords and Common Folk, please be advised you are about to embark on a flight of purest fantasy. Unlike other posts to this blog, it cannot be read as a stand alone, but musts require you enjoin it here, at its very beginning.

Be hushed now, the curtain lifts and our players take the stage.

***********************************************************************



They were in the second week of a relentless rain. The floors of Camelot were caked with mud, the roof was leaking and the men were growing sullen and dispirited.

Of the six men lit by the flickering torches and flames from the fireplace, only Arthur seemed at peace, calmly oiling and polishing Excalibur to a radiant gleam.

The cold rain battered against the thatched roof of the wooden room and the great fire in the grate did little to lift the damp or the spirits. The men were wrapped in thick cloaks and depression.

"You know, Arthur, there are pages to do that work for you?" Gawain coughed harshly, both hands cupped around his goblet of heated mead.

Arthur smiled grimly, "Indeed, as you say, Sir Gawain. Yet it is a task I prefer to do."

"You've loved that old relic since wrenching it out of those rocks a life time ago." Gawain observed irritably. "God's breath, I would rather have my guts ripped out in heat of battle than suffer another day of this interminable rain and damp!"

There was a general grunting of assent from the others in the room.

As Arthur was about to speak, Galahad strode briskly toward them, pulling off his soaking cloak and rushing nearer the fire. "They've found Merlyn." he announced. "As you predicted, my Lord, out in yon forest gathering herbs that only grow under these miserable conditions."

Arthur smiled and gestured to Percival, "Go ye hither then and fetch our guest for Merlyn's inspection. Perhaps some entertainment will lift all our spirits."

Percival downed the last of his mead and flung the cup aside. Pulling his cloak more tightly around him, he marched from the room.

Gawain pounded his fist on the table, coughing again. "Aye, some entertainment!" he croaked weakly, "Anything to distract from this sodden curse that afflicts us!"

"Patience, Gawain!" counseled a weak voice from the doorway. A painfully thin man, wrapped in bearskin and clutching a large leather bag, moved cautiously into the room. Merlyn threw back his hood to reveal a mane of white hair and beard. "If you were looking for a quest, sir knight, you could have joined me in my search."

Gawain laughted harshly, "I'm no so daft, Merlyn. I want to escape the rain, not bathe in it!"

Beyond the room voices could be heard and the pounding of feet. Percival reappeared dragging a man in chains. He shoved the man into the room where he slipped on the mud and fell to the reeking floor.

Merlyn, looked at the stranger with amusement. "And what have we here?"

"My gift to you, Merlyn!" Said Arthur rising to his feet. "Knowing your love of oddities."

Merlyn walked around the stranger, sniffing and prodding with his staff. "He is dressed oddly to be sure and a little pudgy perhaps. A loss of twenty or thirty pounds would harm him none. How came he hence?"

"Aye," agreed Arthur. "A good question that. He says he's here to gather research for a post to what he calls a "blog". Claims he's from 1500 years in the future. And his name is Barry."



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