Originally, this blog thingy started out as a way for me to get my name out there; to help promote the writing juggernaut which is The Sciacca. The girl that managed the Website for a company that I was writing for, Jennifer C, called me and said, “Hey, what’s your personal Website address? We want to help promote you on our site.” And you would have thought that I just told her that I was endorsing and actively campaigning for Bush for a third term by the stages of shock that she went through over me not actually having my own Website.

First was confusion. “Wait. What? You don’t have a site?”

Then denial. “No. You must have your own site.”

Then anger. “I really can’t believe you don’t have your own site.”

Then acceptance. “OK.  You should have your own site. You really should.”

So I did. And now I do. And at first I thought I’d just sit back and watch those sweet-sweet page hits roll in. But then I saw, uh, no. It doesn’t happen that way. Like at all. In reality, you fickle bunch of Internet browsing mush heads seem WAY more interested in watching “man spills scalding coffee in crotch!” videos or updating your Facebooks or reading Glee and Bieber fan pages than reading long (OK, *really* long) blog posts. And each precious visitor count is more in fact akin to clawing your way forward over another blood-soaked inch of soil at the Ardennes. And each comment an evern rarer Blood Diamond that just happens to wash over your feet as you are crossing a muddy, regular diamond river.

Meanwhile I kept posting things, waiting for all the “getting my name out there” to really actually *get* my name out there. Then at some point I started forgetting about the blog being about getting my name out there and actually just enjoyed doing the blog thing.

And that is apparently exactly when your name starts getting itself out there. Because when you are just writing for yourself and for fun – oh, OK, and for Paris Gary and St Lake Kirsten or those people in Plymouth, MI and Austin, TX that I don’t even know – then you start doing stuff that is actually entertaining to read. And then you start getting feedback like “I should know better than to read your stuff when drinking my morning coffee” and “I peed myself a little” and “you’re at least as good as I am” (which in context – and from the commenter – WAS a big compliment) and “it’s a shame you’re not a hot chick.” (I’m taking that last one as a compliment even though, you know, it could probably go either way...)

In a 12-hour time span last week I got the ultimate blog site validation by having TWO separate entities reach out to me saying they liked my stuff enough to want to have me do MY stuff for THEIR stuff. (Take that Snapple! With your even-betterer stuff!)

Company 1 wanted me to become a technology evangelist on a consulting basis for them. Now, I'm not exactly sure what a "technology evangelist" position entails, but I picture me in some awesomely bright colored suit, laying hands on the poor and huddled masses and shouting things like, "Your electronics are sinful and out of date! Be gone you evil components! BE HEALED!" And "You have lost your eyesight, my child! You have been wearing those awful 3D glasses around in public. Take off your glasses that you might see again! BE HEALED!" In reality, I think the consulting position would have very little actual hands laying on and more me helping them recruit talent through my “network of contacts in the custom electronics industry” (which actually is a couple of levels above the hive of scum and villainy you might think it is from reading about Darryl W) and to help generate case studies on how to help dealers make money from their product. Not sure if this will pan out, but again, giant, fun-time exposure from blog showed this company that I “can write well." (Perhaps not the finest crafted compliment I’ve ever received but several shades better than the guy who said I wrote like an ADD kid hopped-up on Mountain Dew.)

Company 2 was an editor for a publication that was starting a new magazine that they wanted me to write for. They had read – and presumably liked – my writing style and thought I’d be a good fit for them. Also bonus is that they have a staff full of other writers that I know well and really respect, so it would be joining a really strong team. At first I thought, "Dawesome! Dodally dawesome! A new magazine to write for!" that seemed to be a complete not conflict of interest with any of my other writings-for people. But...

Turns out that this is a major competitor to Jeremy G and that this was going to seriously rock their boat. And if I learned nothing else from the Hues Corporation it is that you don’t rock the boat. No, you don’t rock the boat, baby. (Equally important is not tipping the boat over.) So in a flurry of "Wait! Stop! Come back!" e-mails I was offered all kinds of ways to “add the Sciacca flavor” (ummmm, meaty!) to do more work for them. Then with the ultimate please-please don’t do it with extra beggy-beggy on top -- which appeals to me to no end, especially the beggy-beggy which is WAY more tastey and less threateney than a red-cancer-cherry -- TWO other staffers contacted me letting me know how much they like my stuff. And one of them might even have called me her writer hero which at least sounds inspiring. True, with great power comes great responsibility, but when greatness is suddenly thrust upon us...something-something, big emotional finish. And...swelling orchestral score and...fireworks!

I must say, it feels *awfully* nice to get all the attention, like the pretty girl at the Big Dance who smiles so demurely and bats her eyelashes and has all the boys wanting to bring her punch and dance with her. (Crap! Maybe I AM a hot chick!) But sometimes agreeing to EVERY body can make you like the slutty girl that everyone asks to dance 'cause they know she's an easy score. And that she'll do the dirty stuff. The *really* dirty stuff… And I’m not quite ready to be THAT girl. Yet...