Once upon a time, it was another one of those interminable board meetings that the bigwigs like so much over here at 1-800-Translate. Typically, I was distracted, having rolled up the corporate minutes into a pretend spyglass so I could keep a better eye on my minions as they went on endlessly about profits and workflows and other mind-numbingly tedious matters.
Through the chaff of their interminable chatter, I heard my name mentioned. “And Ken is going to do a blog.” I dropped my spyglass. Threw it down is more like it.
“Whoa, Nelly! Uncle Kenny doesn’t do blogs, that’s the company policy.” I banged my shoe on the table for emphasis. “I’m much too busy bossing you guys around!”
Well, they didn’t buy that for a minute. So we compromised―that is, I agreed to write a blog. “Fine, one a week, 1000 words,” I said, hooking my thumbs underneath my suspenders and giving them a snap for emphasis. This is how to lead.
The Web guy―the one who always comes to the meetings wearing his Pagan colors―looked at me over his Ray-Bans and shook his head slowly. “No way, bro. It’s three times a week or bust, got it?” So we compromised again. Three posts a week.
Oh, those long lonely nights, with only the sound of my quill scratching the parchment.
For a long time, I was so very alone, my only friend the blank page moistened with my tears. But then you guys started showing up, posting smart remarks and edgy comments, and I started to like it a lot more. Now I can’t wait to share my stories with you all, and the measure of my success and satisfaction is the lines you guys toss me. It’s the pixie dust of community and recognition. It makes me feel alive. And yes, it makes me feel like Tinker Bell too. Thanks to you.
But now these guys at Lexiophile with their 100 Best Blogs contest got their hooks in me, like Captain Hook when he poisoned Tinker Bell! If I don’t get voted on the list, I’ll just, well, I don’t know what I’ll do! Here I quote J. M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan:
“Every moment her light was growing fainter; and he knew that if it went out she would be no more…. Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.
“Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees. ‘If you believe,’ he shouted to them, ‘clap your hands; don’t let Tink die.'”
My sincere and heartfelt thanks to the readers of Translation Guy for all your patience and indulgence over the last year.