So Blog, you must be pretty lonely. All those nights I spend on other websites and doing stupid things like homework, you have been suffering here trying to get my attention. Whimpering in the corner like Severus Snape before Hogwarts. I know and I'm sorry. You're in luck, though, Mr. Blog. Two very nice ladies came and sat down with me (and about twenty other lucky souls) and we fleshed out my problem. I haven't been very nice to you Mr. Blog and I hope that you can look deep inside your html and pixels and forgive me.
Firstly, we must have some sort of bonding rituals. Liz B from A Chair, A Fireplace & a Tea Cozy and her blog get together once a week to share Buffy quotes. Now Blog, I know what you're thinking, you don't want to discuss Buffy quotes just because Liz B and her blog do it. I wouldn't want to steal their tradition, don't worry. It's poor netiquette, if nothing else. No Blog, I want to do something that we both enjoy. I think it's pretty obvious that we both love Harry Potter more than should be naturally possible, so perhaps we can do something about that. Together. You and me. Don't make any rash decisions, Blog. I'll let you mull that one over.
And, Mr. Blog, that's not all I have to offer. Betsy Bird of Fuse #8 gets paid to write for her blog three times a week. To prove how much I care about you, I'm going to write to you three times a week, getting paid only in calloused fingers and the love in my heart. And I don't want you thinking Fuse #8 is some kind of kidlit escort, Blog. She writes everyday, even when she doesn't have to. That takes dedication. Or crazy pills. One or the other.
Overall, the presentations in my class last night were very beneficial for you. It was like going to the blog doctor for my checkup. I was told to just keep writing--which is one of those things that I already knew, but somehow find to be amazing revelations once the doctor told me. Mind you, I missed a bunch in the beginning (apparently there was fire swallowing and plates spinning on sticks). And then I had to get over the fact that Betsy Bird was in my classroom, talking and not just being all awesome in New York, blogging like the devil may care. I somehow transformed into a 12 year old girl at a Backstreet Boys concert (well, they performed when I was 12, anyway) the second I walked into the door and had to be reminded that she's an internet personality, not the Beatles. I was confused for a second.