This week’s topic comes from NICOLE @ THOUGHTS STAINED WITH INK, who asks—
Do you ever go back and update older content on your blog? For instance, after getting new graphics or going self-hosted? Why or why not? Do you sometimes curate/clear out old posts that you no longer want published, or rewrite/update them? Do you think people should periodically clean up their old content and update/delete things that don’t align with their current positions/beliefs?
Wow, there are so many questions in there!
First, no, I don’t go back and change or update things I have written. If I changed my mind enough about something to want to get a correction out there, I would probably do an “edited to add” section, expounding on what I felt differently about…but I would do it with the original post intact.
Ad far as adding things like graphics, yeah, I do that from time to time. I have thought about hiring someone to actually design the site for me from the ground up, but I have never wanted to spend the money for something that does not generate income. Right now, this is just my hobby, and I have spent too much on too many hobbies in my life!
I have thought about going back and adding my review summary blocks to the first fifteen or so reviews that I did…but whenever I start to think seriously about doing it, it starts to feel like a lot of work. Maybe someday, yeah?
I have thought about going self-hosted, just because it seems more flexible in terms of plug-ins and font options. But it also seems complicated, so I probably won’t do anything till my year anniversary this summer, if I do anything at all.
I don’t have any interest in cleaning out old posts, although I know some bloggers who have done that. Me, I have every blog post I ever wrote, all the way back to 2002. It’s my history, for good or bad, and I can’t imagine tossing it out. It’s not like it takes up room!
Plus, if I didn’t keep all my old content, I couldn’t drop random Easter eggs into my current posts, like this gem, the second blog post I ever wrote, on Livejournal back in January, 2002:
So, I was sitting in a meeting today and part of the presentation was a mocked-up website about Aruba. Apparently, while much of the exterior of the island is quite commercial and resort-like, the interior of the island is filled with nothing more substantial than goats.
I wonder how the goats feel about that? I also wonder if it's true, or if it's just some marketing guy being cute, but I don't seem to care enough to go look it up.
However, in solidarity with the capra aegagrus of Aruba, I present something less substantial than goats.
I was sitting in the ladies room this afternoon at work, you know, in a stall,and someone walked in. I heard the distinct sound of buttons being pressed on a cell phone. I was immediately intrigued. I wonder if they know I'm here?, I thought. I wonder if they are going to call someone to check about another job, or call to have a fight with their husband or boyfriend? It was all very titillating. However, in the end, there was no call. Nothing. Nada. I guess that she might have been checking her voicemail or I might have been hearing things.
Now, I know that this would have been a better story if something had actually happened, but then it would have been more substantial than the goats. Do you see? 🙂 Plus, it would have been fiction, when I have billed it as fact.
This, however, is fiction, a ficlet I call it, inspired by my favorite TV love-bunnies, Brian and Justin from Queer as Folk:
I watch him sleep. He's restless, still having nightmares. I watch him sleep because I can't, can't sleep, not with him next to me reliving the night that I also relive. The difference is that I relive it awake.He turns for the nth time and I catch a glimpse of the scar. It's remarkably small, remarkably slight. Those who didn't see the blood will probably never notice it. But I saw the blood. On his head, on my hands, on my scarf. For me, the scar will always be red, bright red against the alabaster of his skin. I reach out and touch it, gently so as not to wake him. I stroke his head, try to wipe away the blood, wipe away the memory, wipe away the pain. But I can't. These things are permanent.He begins to stir and I slam my eyes shut, afraid of being caught. He can't know that I am afraid, can't know that I care, can't know that I lie awake at night thinking about the night that I almost lost him.
I will leave you to ponder what a 35-year old woman is doing writing fan fiction. 🙂
Gotta say that this 55-year-old woman still misses Brian and Justin. 💕
So, what say you? How do you feel about editing, changing, adding to your blog? I’ll take your rambling thoughts in the comments.