As a seasoned webizen, I see this a lot: Someone will start a blog or website, post content to it, be disappointed in the result, abandon the site, and start another site with another URL, and post the same content with a slightly different style or stated goal. This is tail chasing, and here’s why…
• You can change your existing site to reflect your new ideas and presentation without abandoning it or moving to a different web address; just change the theme and move the old content to the drafts folder or delete it.
• If you do abandon a site or blog, do us all a favor and delete it into the stone age. Nobody likes link rot, and it will divide and confuse your potential readers.
• Abandoning a site alienates people who visited it, and they often just give up rather than adjust their bookmarks, because people don’t use bookmarks like they once did.
• Changing your site or your blog has little chance of changing your life. Really, that whole millennial “reinventing myself after long hours of soul-searching” is just bullshift.
“I plan to start a blog” means nothing. Start. Your. Blog.
I write this as yet another friend has reinvented herself for about the fifth time. Her work remains exactly the same, as does her notion that changing web addresses will change everything. Reinventing yourself shouldn’t be an event; it should be a daily effort.
There is a great scene in the movie Reds. Jack Reed and Louise Bryant (played by Warren Beatty and Diane Keaton) are having a fight about their unsatisfying writing situation. After slamming a door on each other, they both come back and open the door. Reed says, “Honey, let’s just get out of New York. Let’s just write what we want to write.”
I love that scene because it represents an effort to change themselves creatively, but it also emphasizes my point. They move to Provincetown, Massachusetts, and join the radical Provincetown Players, and although they are exposed to new artistic efforts, the move doesn’t actually solve any of their problems.
I admit to entertaining a fantasy or two about joining the Provincetown Players, and while it would require a time machine to 1916, I still think it would be fun. And I also realize that I can reinvent myself today, this very moment, photographically, philosophically, intellectually, artistically, by trying to see my work in a new light. Everything you create can and should be new in some way: Write about what you love, photograph what you love, paint what you love.