Excerpt from “My Fantastic Life” by President Donald J. Trump: An Autobiography written by the 45th President of the United Staits, Donald J. Trump

Everyone cheered when I came out on the balcony and waved. It was the biggest gathering on the south lawn since my fantastic inauguration, which was huge and had more people at it than any other inauguration in the history of the united shtaitches. Even Barack Obama didn’t get more people than that, ever. It was more people than my poll numbers, which were fantastically high. I looked down on them with my bestest strongest glare, knowing that’s what they all wanted, a strong leader like me to tell them what ot do.

“Mister President?” a man next to me said. It was that guy that always follows me around and tells me stuff, and that I tell him to do stuff and he does. Good man, fine man. Makes good coffee. Maybe I should make him something else, something higher? Then, he tells me something and I only hear the last half of what he says.

“Sir,” he says, “You have the most popular presidency in the history of ever. How can we keep you in office forever?”

“Is the rally soon?” I asked him with a knowing eye. Everyone loves the knowing eye.

“Sir,” he told me, “Your car is ready.”

We go down to the car, and the Secret Service is waiting there for me. As I get in the car, I winked at the guy holding the door and say, “You guys can keep a secret, can’t you?”

They all laugh. They love that joke. I tell it every time and every time they laugh. I’m funnier than any other president ever. Just ask anybody. Everybody loves me.

As we pull away, I practice the glare on the peasants holding signs outside the gate. Losers. Dad always said those people were only worth stepping on on the way to the top. Well, I’m on top now, losers! So shut up and suck it!

The rally is huge! Biggest ever! And they hang on everything I say. I’m a genius with a very big a brain, and they’re stupid losers, so it isn’t hard to talk to them. They eat up everything I say. At this point, I really don’t have to work very hard. They believe anything I tell them. I could shoot a guy right here on stage and pull his guts out, then tell them nothing happened, and they would believe me. I’m the best president ever!

For Want of a Cat (Part 2)

“When you leave here tonight,” she continued, “If you don’t stop at the shelter on the way, you’ll go home to a cold house. Gladys will avoid any contact with you, your children will ignore you, and you will sleep alone in your den again.”

The emotionlessly clinical way she said it, as if she knew it all as cold, hard fact, infuriated him. But more than that, she was absolutely right, and there was only one way she could know any of it.

“You ARE spying on me!” he angrily shouted at her, changing his mind about throwing her out. Before he could take a step, though, she calmly continued.

“In a week’s time, your student, Sonja, will feel like the right decision,” she said, making him stop in his tracks. Something in her tone, or maybe it was the subject matter, made him listen. “She will initiate it, but in a way that makes you believe it was your idea. It will be the most you have felt in a long time, but not the best, and you will tell her afterward that it cannot continue.”

He peered at her, mesmerized. She spoke with a certainty that made him believe it had already happened just the way she described, and for a moment, he actually looked forward to the encounter. What would it hurt anyone to have a little fling? Gladys wouldn’t care! Neither would his kids! And he would have his own sweet little secret to carry him through the long days ahead of him. He couldn’t help a little smile.

“You don’t think it’ll hurt anyone,” she told him, making his eyes widen incredulously as her words mirrored his thoughts. “You don’t tell Gladys or anyone else, and keep it your little secret. And you assume that it’s over, until Sonja visits you again. Then, it is another visit, and another, until you need to find someplace off campus so no one will suspect you.”

His eyes narrowed at her; he would never do that to Gladys! But before he could tell the girl that, she said, “But Gladys does suspect you. She tries to tell herself that you would never do anything like that to her, no matter what problems you two are having, but she still wonders, and her suspicions fester deep inside, getting worse every time you cheat on her. You suspect that she knows, so you make excuses for your absences and late hours, but that only makes her even more suspicious. And when you start missing important family events, even your son’s big game, for a ‘late night of grading papers’, she knows for certain that you are cheating on her.

“The final straw comes when Sonja asks you to leave Gladys,” the girl said without passion. “She will claim to be pregnant and hold you to do ‘the right thing’, as she defines it. When you panic and refuse, and even consider repenting and confessing to Gladys, she threatens you, and you call it off with her in a huff. But she follows through on the threat, and even goes to your home to tell your wife everything. From that moment onward, your life is ruined.”

Professor Gloupe stepped forward, anxious to oust the girl and her precognition of his life out of his office for good. He didn’t want to hear anymore nonsense, but he froze at her next words; unaffected by his threatening stance, she said, “Enraged, Gladys leaves you for good. Your children, angry that you chose your affair over them and their mother, go with her, and you never see them again. The campus, informed of the affair by Gladys, herself, fires you and brings charges of ethical misconduct against you that guarantees you do not work at any other university or college ever again. Sonja visits you just once at the shabby apartment you finally end up in just to gloat over your downfall. She won’t be pregnant, I want you to know. She never wanted to have your baby in the first place; all she’ll be after will be the expensive presents you buy her, thinking that’s what love is all about. You will turn to alcohol to comfort you, and you will die in that apartment of severe liver damage that you will allow to fester because you cannot afford to get it treated.”

He stared at her for a while, feeling a little sick. The picture she painted felt so familiar, so real, as if it perfectly suited the direction his life was heading. Then, his inner cynic took hold, and he scoffed, “All that just because I didn’t adopt a kitten?”

She regarded him clinically, even cocking her head as she studied him. Then, she said, “Would you listen to another story?”

“Go ahead,” the inner cynic replied for him, and the girl immediately launched into another narrative.

“Tonight,” she told him, “When you go home, when you pass the shelter, you will notice it is still open. Needing to clear your head, you decide to step inside and see if you can distract yourself for a little while. Maybe you can forget your problems for a while, and maybe not, but you decide to take the chance. After all, you have nothing to lose.

“There, in one of the cages, laying all alone,” she added, “Is a lone kitten. She’s smaller than any kitten you’ve ever seen. She seems skinny and her fur is a little matted, and she’s missing one eye. She lays there looking so forelorn that you are drawn to her. She seems to be sharing your luck, lately. You take pity on her and ask the attendant about her, and you learn she’s a runt, but a fighter, and won’t let anyone handle her, and that’s why she looks like she desperately needs grooming. For some reason, you ask if you can try, and the attendant hands you a brush.

“You bend close to the cage and speak softly to her, but she doesn’t respond. No matter what tone you use or what promises you make, the kitten doesn’t respond the way you want. You’re about to get angry at the poor thing when you see, really see, how sad she is, and it reminds you of your own sadness. So, you sit next ot her, and you sympathize, and you tell it your own story, and ask it hers. You read the card on her cage, and you know she’s had a hard beginning at life. You open her cage and invite her to come out, if she wants. And, to your amazement, she does, and she curls up on your lap. And, while she’s there, you brush her, and eventually, she purrs. You make special arrangements with the attendant, and you take her home.

“Gladys is against the kitten, telling you it is the last thing they need in your house. But your children love it, and they want to play with it, but you notice how scared it is and you gently, for the kitten’s sake, tell them that they will have to wait until the kitten is more used to them before they can play with her. You do not see it, but Gladys notices the change in you already. You have taken the first step in controlling your temper.

“You and Gladys argue over the kitten after the children go to sleep, but it doesn’t have the usual fury. And, for once, Gladys gives in, leaving you confused and wondering how you won.

“Days pass, then weeks. You and the kitten are almost inseperable. You name her, and she comes when you call. You find an excuse in her to come home right away from the office to feed her and to play with her, and she becomes the topic of conversations with your wife and children that you hadn’t had in a very long time. You rediscover Gladys’ smile, and that twinkle her eyes, and you find more things to talk about. Any thought of Sonja or the prospect of an affair is pushed out of your mind by more important things, like grocery shopping together and gardening, and rediscovering everything about Gladys that made you fall in love with her in the first place. And, you discover just how interesting and funny and smart your children have somehow become, and you regret the time you missed while they were becoming such wonderful people. And, you promise yourself, and them, that you aren’t going to miss any more.”

She stopped, just like that, and regarded him calmly. The professor couldn’t believe she would leave him on a cliffhanger like that; it was almost sadistic! Leaning forward, he eagerly demanded, “Well? What happens next?”

“That’s for you to decide,” she told him. Then, inexplicably, she turned to go.

This time, he leapt forward and grabbed her arm to stop her. When he realized what he’d done, he quickly let her go and stepped back, afraid he’d hurt her, but she showed no indication of pain or injury. She turned back to him, her face as placid as ever.

“Before you go,” the professor pleaded, struggling for the right words to convey the thoughts jumbled up in his head, “I have to know! Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you here? And, how do you know those things?”

She didn’t answer, but stared at him as if he should already know them. He straightened in shock and stared at her dumbfounded for a moment. Then, he put to words the new thought in his head.

“Are you a time traveler?” he gasped in awe. “Are you from the future?”

She didn’t answer, and he took that for a yes. He studied her for a while, then hopelessly asked, “Why me? Why are you visiting me?”

She still didn’t answer, and he could gleam nothing from her silence. So, he asked, “Am I so special? Am I so important that you risk changing the future by coming here?’

“Professor Gloupe,” she replied calmly. “Everyone is important to the universe. Everyone is important to someone. And, someone is important to you. Keep that in mind on your journey.”

“Journey?” the professor repeated in confusion. “What journey?”

But she only gave him a little serene smile and walked out the door. When he tore it open only an instant later, to ask her more about his future, shenwas gone, as if she had never existed.

He looked up and down the hallway for her, to no avail. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he went back into his office and sat behind his desk. He glanced down at the drawer, yanked it open, and pulled out the whiskey. He stared at the bottle for a moment, then went to his window and poured the contents out into the bushes outside. After that, he set the empty bottle back on the shelf as a momento before reaching for his phone.

“Yes, it’s really me, Gladys,” he chuckled into it at her incredulous question. “And, I’m really on my home right now. Yes, I know I had to stay late to look over some papers, but it didn’t take as long as I thought. The reason I’m calling is, I’m making a stop on the way and didn’t want you to worry. No, it’s a surprise, and a good one! Be home soon!

“I love you!” he added as the piece-de-resistance. And it felt so good saying it, and meaning it, after such a long time.

For Want of a Cat (Part 1)

Professor Gloupe trudged wearily into his office and let the door slam behind him, rattling the window dangerously. He didn’t care if it shattered or not. If it did, it was only following the pattern his life was taking, anyway. His feet scuffed the well-worn rug as he crossed to his desk and dropped into the cracked leather chair, receiving a little nip from it, as usual. Sighing heavily, he took inventory of his night. About a thousand papers to grade, and hours of work prepping for the next lecture awaited him, as usual. The alternative was worse, though: going home to a nagging wife and a couple of ungrateful kids. They were always complaining about him, and never had the decency to do it behind his back. No, it was always to his face, as if they were trying to hurt him! Didn’t they understand that he did it all for them? Didn’t they get that it was all so they could have the life they now enjoy? Why couldn’t they be a little more grateful?

Sonja understood. She might only be a student, but she was more worldly than the others. She knew the sacrifices he made. She knew what it took to get ahead in life, to earn the good things. She was a lot more sympathetic than Gladys, his wife, that’s for sure! If only he wasn’t married, and maybe a couple of years younger…

He put the thought out of his head. It was making his brain hurt, and he needed that organ if he was going to get through the evening. The bottle of whiskey caught the corner of his eye, then his full attention. It was a gag gift, and at the time he’d taken it in good stride. A ten year anniversary, they had said when they presented it, and a way to make it through ten more. Everyone laughed, even him; he didn’t drink, and had no use for it, but he’d laughed and kept it in his office as a momento. Those were good times. Happy times. Whatever happened to them?

He reached for the bottle, still unopened after years of sitting on his shelf. It wasn’t cheap, so it wouldn’t have gone bad. He’d heard others say it took the edge off, and he really needed some dulling right then. What could it hurt? After all, it was his to use as he wished.

He found his coffee mug and wiped it out with a facial tissue, then twisted the bottle open and covered the bottom of the mug with the amber liquid. It looked like an oily mud puddle, but he slurped it down, and gagged and coughed as it burned his throat. Wrinkling his nose at the bottle, he wondered, not ironically, why people called the stuff smooth.

A knock at the door distracted him from the bottle. A lithe shadow stood framed in the opaque glass, the head seeming to turn as if glancing up and down the hallway. For the first time, Professor Gloupe thanked heaven that no one could see through the window. He hastily tucked the bottle in a drawer and tossed the remaining whiskey in his mug to the ficus in the corner before he called for whoever it was to enter.

For some strange reason, he expected it to be Sonja. She had a habit of showing up between classes with one question or another, always in a short skirt or a tight blouse or both. And the questions she asked always left him wondering, after their meeting, why the girl was even in his Theoretical Physics class at all, if she had such trouble understanding the material. The girl who entered, though, wasn’t Sonja. It wasn’t anyone he recognized at all.

“Professor Gloupe?” the girl asked. “May I ask you something?”

Her confidence was surprising, for a student with questions. A little intrigued, he motioned for her to enter and said, “What’s your question?”

“Do you really doubt the possibility of time travel,” she asked in a tone that hinted at some knowledge of the subject, “Given the Heisenberg-Rosen string theory?”

“Heisenberg-Rosen has nothing to do with time travel,” he reminded her patiently, his hope fading that he’d actually found a student that understood the material. “Neither does string theory.”

“Dimensional access isn’t merely across planes of space,” she replied. “Time is also a dimension of the greater Multi-verse, and to ignore it in any calculation does it, and physics in general, a great disservice.”

“And,” he smirked humorously, “What comic book did you read that from?”

“It’s a known fact,” she told him with the same assurance she might use to say the sky was blue. Then, she backed off and mumbled, “Well, it is where I come from.”

“And, where is that, my dear?” he asked, anxious to find out what curriculum had filled her with such nonsense.

“You wouldn’t know it,” she told him confidently.

“Try me,” he told her, readying himself for her later disillusionment.

She looked at him for a moment, her face unreadable, then she said, “Maybe I should just get to the point.”

“Please do,” he told her, feeling the triumph already. Usually, it was only the ones that had no clue what they were talking about that dithered like that.

“On your way home tonight,” she told him, “Get the kitten.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, thrown for a loop. It wasn’t exactly what he expected her to say.

“Get the kitten,” she gently insisted. “For your own good.”

“What kitten?” he demanded, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The one at the shelter,” she told him. “The black and white runt that they don’t expect to live, or ever get adopted. The one missing one eye. Adopt him.”

“Do you work at that shelter or something?” he ventured, wondering if that was the new way of soliciting adoptions, door-to-door.

“No,” she told him. “But a few days from now, you and your family will go there for a university event, and your kids will fall in love with it. You will refuse to take it, making your kids despise you even more and alienating Gladys for good.”

He leaned forward and peered suspiciously at the girl. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen anyone like her at any of his lectures. He was sure he would recognize her rainbow hair and that wild cut anywhere. He quietly demanded, “Who are you?”

“I’m the one advising you to adopt a kitten,” she told him. “And, I’m the one trying to save your career.”

He scowled deeply at her, then it hit him and he erupted. “How do you know my wife’s name? How do you know -?”

He stopped himself before he gave away any family secrets. How did she know that his kids hated him, or that his relationship with Gladys was so tenuous? It made him furious enough to demand, “Are you spying on me and my family?”

“I don’t need to,” she calmly replied. “Where I’m from, your problems are a matter of common knowledge.”

“And, where is that?” he heatedly demanded.

“The future,” she simply told him.

He waited a moment for the punchline, then snapped, “That’s what you’re going with?”

She nodded, and he exploded again. “You’re telling me you’re from the future?”

That time, she didn’t nod; she just looked at him seriously. He took a breath to keep himself from saying the wrong thing, then snapped, “And you expect me to believe that?”

“You can believe what you like,” she told him. “I’m just here to make sure you do the right thing.”

“Like what?” he demanded. “Adopting a damaged kitten?”

She didn’t reply, and it was hard to look at her passive expression without wanting to slap it off her face. He restrained himself and instead snapped, “I wouldn’t take it, anyway! I hate cats! Now, get out and peddle your pets somewhere else!”

“I’m not here for anyone else,” she replied. “And I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”

“Oh, yes you are!” he said, rising. He’d had enough. If she wasn’t going to leave on her own, then he was going to throw her out! But even as he made his way around the desk, she placidly remarked, “It would be a grave mistake to have that affair with Sonja. She’s just in it for the grades, and anything else she can get out of you.”

He stopped in his tracks and stared. Sonja? How did she know about that? How could she possibly know what he was just thinking about? Then, he knew, or thought he did, and asked, accusingly, “How long have you been watching me?”

“I’ve known about you my entire life,” she told him. “You could say I even care about what happens to you.”

He stared at her, searching for any sign of deceit or sarcasm, finding none. She looked completely sincere. He was still staring, not knowing what to make of her, when she added, “For your sake, you have to learn to control your temper. It will be your downfall.”

Now, he had her! He said, “I thought not having a kitten was my downfall!”

“There are many factors involved,” she said clinically. “And only one cure.”

His face scrunched up skeptically, and, his tone riddled with scorn, he demanded, “Who are you, and why are you picking on me?”

She studied him for a moment, as if sizing him up for something, then she said, “Let me tell you a story.”

Apocalypse Now

Has anyone else noticed how closely the Trump reign of terror resembled the Biblical account of the Tribulation? Yeah, I know, there’s a lot of crackpots out there that have compared real Presidential administrations to the Biblical account of the End Days, but none of them ever offered any legitimate proof. Now, as compelling as some bogus Biblical Code might be, I think if you really wanted to find the name of the Anti-Christ in some sort of crossword-like method of discovery, or if you wanted to “prove” that this President or that President was the evil one, and if you mocked up the text just right, you could come up with “evidence” that would satisfy anyone who doesn’t have the time or energy to look it up or think for themselves. And, I’m not saying that Trump was the Anti-Christ, but look at the evidence, accumulated in hindsight, of course.

For one thing, let’s look at the definition of Anti-Christ. One who is against Christ? Not necessarily. But one that is in opposition to the ways and teachings of Jesus? Exactly! Let me explain. Trump played lip-service to his so-called Christianity, claiming that his favorite book was the Bible and his favorite book of the Bible was Two Corinthians, but he couldn’t cite one quote from either that stayed with him. And, what Christian in the world would gas a peaceful protest and use flashbangs to clear them off the street so he could walk to the front of a Church for a photo-op where HE HELD THE BIBLE UPSIDE-DOWN? Need more proof? What family-loving Christian would have affairs while married, get divorced three times because of them, and still cheat on his (third) wife WHILE SHE IS NURSING THEIR NEWBORN SON? AND, WITH A PORN STAR! Actually, two of them, and what good Christian would pay them off from campaign funds once he decided it would be wise to keep those affairs a secret while he ran for public office? And another thing, Trump has never attended a Church service in his life; he’s even on tape mocking well-known Christian vice-president Pence for his beliefs. I don’t see how anyone could NOT think of Trump as, if not THE Anti-Christ, at least ONE of them! Not only does he not uphold the beliefs of The Savior, he openly mocks them every chance he gets! And to everyone who says that he’s asked forgiveness and been Redeemed, I say, that man has yet to demonstrate any sign of Redemption. And, the day he does will be an incredible boon to Christianity, demonstrating that if a walking pile of offal like Trump could be Saved, then anyone could.

In the Bible, the Anti-Christ is accompanied by his False Prophet, who does his bidding and gets the world ready for domination. That could be quite a few people, from Guilliani to Hannity, to even Steven Slitherin, or whatever his name was. Maybe it’s Jarod? Mike Pillowguy? Who knows. But Trump has surrounded himself with sychophants more than willing to do his bidding and lie through their teeth to cover for him, and if that isn’t the definition if False Prophets, I don’t know what is! Just rewatch some of their interviews with an open mind, and you’ll see what I mean.

Speaking of False Prophets, the Bible also mentions the “New Religion” in the End Days, and you can’t get more cultish than the psychotic, deranged, divorced-from-reality admiration that Trump’s followers have for him. Nothing you can say or show them will shake their belief in him. Even Christians are fooled by that grifter, even in the face of all his unrepentant affairs and the anti-Christian behavior. They are all blind to his deceit, just as described in the Bible. There is even a sect that likens him to the Messiah and claims he is the Second Coming. One of the recent conservative conventions even erected a golden idol to him, and if that doesn’t terrify you, nothing will.

Look, I can’t go into all the evidence, or this post would become a book, and no one wants to sit that long to read it. My point is, Trump is the Anti-Christ and everyone under his sway should be aware of it. Get out, now, before he has you drink the kool-aid so you can meet up with the mothership! Stop giving a so-called billionaire your hard-earned money! You should have believed who he was when he admitted to rape that time he thought the mic was off! How Christian is it to treat women like that? Now, I care little for that pathetic man in Florida who desperately craves attention 24/7. I care about you. I hate liars, and I hate those who knowingly take advantage of people without regard for the damage they cause their victims. Trump doesn’t care about you. He cares only for himself and what he can get out of you. He thinks that makes him smart and tough, but all it makes him is a thief and a weasel. I doubt if he even cares that much for his kids, except as someone to throw to the feds in a plea deal. Get out now! It’s not too late! Focus on some other conservative, you know, someone who didn’t try to overthrow the government. But for pity’s sake, save yourselves!

Dear Larry,

I’m a little bothered. You know how I’ve always wanted to be a rich and famous author, like Rowling and Seuss? Well, I’m kind of afraid of doing that now, and I’ll tell you why. I’m afraid someone is going to take me too seriously.

Yeah, that’s right: too seriously. You know, like that Hubbard guy, the one that wrote a sci-fi story that got turned into a religion? You know my story is about the power of faith in making miracles and such; well, what’s going to happen if someone takes it too seriously? I mean, I don’t want to be the basis of a whole new religion! For one thing, I can’t take the responsibility! I can’t even weed the flower beds around my house, for crying out loud! How am I supposed to be idolized by millions of dedicated acolytes? That’s the kind of pressure I could do without.

I know what you’re thinking. Aren’t people smarter than that? Well, yes. Most people aren’t so easily taken in by glitz and glamor, but there are way too many gullible people out there who might be inadvertantly taken in by my smooth stylings and catchy prose, and I don’t want to be responsible for them. After all, they elected an adulterer and known liar to office just because he told them he was the only one that could help them out of their problems, even though he was, himself, a part of those same problems. Yes, I’m talking about the same people that believed horrible lies about an entire political party, including a vicious story about a non-existant child trafficing ring in an equally non-existant basement of a pizzeria, just because it fit into the biased narrative they had been hand-fed for decades by a network founded just to spread such lies. Sound far-fetched? Well, just remember, these same people would rather have elected a known and convicted child predator than someone from the rival party because of those lies; there are too many people that consistantly vote against their best interests in the name of political loyalty.

And, no, it’s not all about politics, though everything seems to be lately. Some people just want to believe whatever they want to despite the evidence in front of their eyes. It’s like that short story of the man who sat on his porch at sunset every day, staring at this huge barn in front of him. When someone finally asked him why he was staring at the barn, he asked, “What barn?” And, the barn disappeared, as if it was never there. It feels like some people are like that with this pandemic we now face, believing they can wish it away through faith alone. It doesn’t matter if loved ones die or they get sick themselves. They believe what they want to believe despite what the scientists tell them. You think I want my novel to fuel a similar mania?

You still think I’m being silly? Look at the people that think the election was rigged and that the President isn’t the President. They actually think the last moron is still in charge, even though he lost in a landslide. It’s funny how he put certain people in charge and told everyone it was going to be a secure election, but that the only way he was going to lose was if it was rigged. Which was it, anyway: rigged or secure? You think that anyone who followed that kind of two-faced “logic” wouldn’t read all sorts of things in my brilliant narrative?

Yeah, I have a lot of reservations about publishing my novel. If those things could happen in real life, just imagine what could happen next? Why, before you know it, an alleged sex trafficing legislator, who should be removed from office let alone every committee he’s on, will be allowed to remain on the committee overseeing the very department that is investigating him! Or a man that instigated an insurrectionist riot at the Capitol of this Democracy will remain at large without suffering the consequences of his action! Or, the only one in his party gutsy enough to stand up to him would get her position in leadership threatened just because she hurt his feelings!

Okay! Okay, I know. That last stuff was too crazy to be even remotely possible. Maybe I am just being too weird about things. Maybe I’m just under some strain from the writing process, or something. I don’t know. I guess all I can do is plug away at it and hope for the best. Hey, anyway, thanks for listening, Larry! You’re a good friend! Catch you later!

Introduce Yourself (Example Post)

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

  • Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
  • Because it will help you focus your own ideas about your blog and what you’d like to do with it.

The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

To help you get started, here are a few questions:

  • Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
  • What topics do you think you’ll write about?
  • Who would you love to connect with via your blog?
  • If you blog successfully throughout the next year, what would you hope to have accomplished?

You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

When you’re ready to publish, give your post three to five tags that describe your blog’s focus — writing, photography, fiction, parenting, food, cars, movies, sports, whatever. These tags will help others who care about your topics find you in the Reader. Make sure one of the tags is “zerotohero,” so other new bloggers can find you, too.

Introduce Yourself (Example Post)

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

  • Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
  • Because it will help you focus your own ideas about your blog and what you’d like to do with it.

The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

To help you get started, here are a few questions:

  • Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
  • What topics do you think you’ll write about?
  • Who would you love to connect with via your blog?
  • If you blog successfully throughout the next year, what would you hope to have accomplished?

You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

When you’re ready to publish, give your post three to five tags that describe your blog’s focus — writing, photography, fiction, parenting, food, cars, movies, sports, whatever. These tags will help others who care about your topics find you in the Reader. Make sure one of the tags is “zerotohero,” so other new bloggers can find you, too.

Dear Larry,

I didn’t think I’d ever write to you at all, to be honest, but things have come up lately that I have to get off my chest. I hope you don’t mind being my sounding board for a while.

Well, those pesky Elves are back. You know, the Elf on a Shelf (TM.) sort? Yeah, them! They’re back, and making mischief! First day in the house, and they’ve made a mess! They got out all sorts of cookie cutters and threw flour everywhere, even on themselves! The only thing they did right was they’re wearing masks; you know, for Covid? Yeah. At least, they’re taking this pandemic seriously! I’ll try to get a picture to show you what I’m talking about.

Anyway, they aren’t all that’s bothering me. The writing’s been going slow. Yeah, I’m on Chapter Nineteen, but it’s still the first draft, and it’s taken so long to get this far! I can’t imagine how long the rewrite’s going to last! The good side is I’m already thinking of ways to improve the story in the early chapters, and how to add more depth to the characters. So, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Granted, that light is a little pinpoint in the very far distance, but it’s there. I just hope I live long enough to finish the book and try to get it published. I fear I’ll die of old age long before then.

Speaking of publishing, that’s another worry. What if it’s not good enough? What if no publisher would touch it? Should I self-publish? That last part scares me more than the thought of rejection. I can’t afford to self-publish! I’ve spoken to a rep from a self-publishing website, and she tells me what they can do for me, and it sounds tempting. But I can’t help but feel like it’s a scam of some sort. They sent me material to look over, which I still haven’t done, and I have to wonder if a scammer would go to that kind of trouble or not, just for my money. The packages they offer top a thousand dollars a pop, but they offer editing and cover artists for the higher end ones. But I don’t want to have to promote and sell my own books, and I don’t want a garage full of copies that I don’t know what to do with.Maybe I should read the stuff she sent me. Or, maybe I should explore that Amazon publishing more. That’s another route I’ve just discovered. I wonder if that’s the route to take or not? They say an author has to expect to get rejected a lot before their first publication, and that book might not be the first one they’ve written. I’ve written only one book so far, and its taken five years to do it! I’m getting so tired of the constant uphill battle! I can’t stop writing, though! That’s an opiate that I can’t give up! It feels weird if I don’t at least try to get a few pages written in the morning! So, I can’t abandon the book and return to “real life”. But the thought of doing this again, for another five or more years, just to get a few books written in the hopes someone likes one of them, is pretty daunting! Do I even have that many stories in me? How do other authors do it?

I’m lucky if I have two or three hours in the morning to get anything written. And that assumes that the tablet’s power holds out. I have one tablet that actually works for writing the book, and that’s it. The others are crap at it. Oh, they have their uses, but writing with precision isn’t it. The one I’m using for this missive has a lousy keyboard that mistypes constantly, making me have to backtrack to take out extra letters, seperate words, and add the letters it misses. It’s too frustrating to do that and concentrate on story-telling, so I use it for this kind of thing, and for Minecraft (TM). And YouTube (TM). That’s about it. Anyway, if it isn’t the tablet or the keyboard running out of power, then its the kids needing help with schoolwork, or time to make lunch, or household chores, or laundry, or whatever other crises emerge during a typical day. And after the kids go to sleep, I’m lucky to have the chance and the energy to watch Colbert before dragging myself to bed! This sucks! It’s definitely not what I signed up for!

Anyway, I have to go, because I’ve burned up the little time to myself I had this morning, and I have to make lunch. So, good-bye for now. Hopefully, I won’t have to bother you again.