I’ve been a bad blogger this week. Worse than usual, I mean. This time, though, I have a very slightly better excuse than usual. No, really, I do.
You see, at the end of May this year, I’m taking my annual, much-longed-for trip to The Happiest Place On Earth, a.k.a The Sunshine State, a.k.a Oh, Thank God We’re Back, a.k.a. Florida. So far, so exactly the same as every other year, hmm? This year, however, it will be slightly different, because this year we’re going for three weeks rather than two – a fact that has been the cause of great rejoicing in our house, and also the cause of great terror. Because… the business. It needs to keep functioning, even when I’m lying on a beach keeping an eye out for crustaceans, or having my fingers prised off another pair of Louboutins at Neiman Marcus. Previously, on “Oh Crap, How Am I Supposed To Keep My Business Running When I Am Not?” I have achieved this feat by writing all of the posts that would normally appear on the sites during my holiday in advance.
And it has damn near killed me.
This year? I just can’t. I can’t do it any more. Our holiday to the Canaries in December was the last straw. Once again, I worked myself into the ground in the run-up to the holiday, and once again, I spent a large percentage of my time on holiday worrying about how well the dozens of posts I’d been forced to write in a short period of time would go down. Every time I logged in to check the comments, my heart was in my mouth. Every time I got a negative reaction to a post, I started beating myself up for daring to take a holiday, when I should’ve just stayed at home and made sure there wasn’t even the slightest interruption to the sites. And then when I got home, I got an angry message from a reader who was so outraged by my absence from the internet that she had decided to never read my blogs again.
So I started 2010 feeling a bit down about it all, to tell the truth. I felt like no matter what I did, it would never be good enough. No one appeared to appreciate the effort I’d gone to to write advance posts for one blog, but when I DIDN’T bother to schedule posts for another, I got yelled at. It was a thankless task, and I’d pretty much decided that the only solution was to never take another holiday as long as I lived, when Terry stepped in as the voice of reason. He pointed out the fact that had been staring me in the face for a very long time: that the business has now reached the stage where I just can’t do it all on my own – or even with his help – and also, wow, chill the hell out woman, look, here is some wine!
Which is why, as of next week we’re starting to employ freelance writers for The Fashion Police.
(Note: It wasn’t because of the wine. Honestly.)
(Another Note: We’ve already hired the writers, so my apologies if the title of this post was misleading. Still, at least you don’t have to read any more of this long ramble, hey?)
This is a really, really exciting time for us. Bringing in other writers was always part of our long-term plan, but it was always something that felt like it was in the extreme long term (i.e. the I’ll-probably-be-dead-by-then long term), so finally being able to move forward with that is pretty amazing to me. Also, we have some really great writers on board (Take a bow Andrea, Caroline and Fi!) and more lined up for when we need them, so I’m also really excited to see what they’ll come up with.
It’s also kind of scary, in the way that change is always a bit scary. It means relinquishing a bit of the control I’ve had over MY BABY the site in question, and when you’re a control freak, that’s hard. But it’s also really cool, and I’m hoping it’ll be something that will help the business grow, and allow me to be able to take a break every now and then without being constantly glued to my iPhone and, um, running up £30 worth of calls (And by “calls” I mean “connecting to the internet to check my blogs, and also to find out if I really DO look like that girl on Coronation Street, like the mad woman who sat next to Terry on the plane said*”) before I’ve even left the airport at my destination. Which, yeah, is what happened when we went to Gran Canaria in December. Oh, how we laughed when Terry called O2 (my service provider) to tell them there’d been a “mistake” with the billing, and they explained that I’d downloaded a kazillionty-one megs of data WHILE I WAS WAITING FOR MY SUITCASE. Ahem.
Anyway! Onwards! And upwards! Does anyone know where Terry’s hidden my iPhone?
* I don’t, by the way. That woman was mad. She also kept leaning across Terry to poke me in the side and say, “Do you just read AAAALLL the time? Is that all you do?” To which I answered, “No, when I’m not reading I also enjoy eating old ladies who keep wanting to chat while I’m reading.” In my own head, natch.