Comments: Off

It appears some of you have noticed that when you click on the “comments: none” link here at Archives of Our Lives, you are unable to add a comment like you usually can.

This is not an accident.  I did it purposely to ruin your lives.

Okay, okay…not really.  I mean, I did do it purposely, but I did not intend to ruin your lives in the process or to cause any annoyance on your part.

A lovely reader named Amanda (you might recognise her from her intense, detailed, über-long and delightful comments) pointed out her distress over the comment problem via email, and for some reason (must be her long comments bringing out my inner chatterbox) I wrote a novel-length email in response, going into details of my life I’m sure she couldn’t have possibly cared about, but she emailed me first so ha! she was stuck with me.

She asked me what was wrong with my comments, and said she couldn’t believe I would turn them off purposely, because she knew how much I love comments.

I explained it better to Amanda than I could in any different words, so I’m going to copy and paste my emailed explanation here, for all y’all to read:

It’s like this:

You’re exactly right.  I DO love comments. DEARLY.  But I think I might have gotten to the point where I like them TOO much.  That is, I depend on them so much to help me feel validated, that when I don’t get them—or as many as I expect certain posts “deserve,” if you will—it really takes a toll on me.  That sounds so lame and pathetic, but it’s true. I feel like, “What the heck?  I spent two hours photoshopping pictures, and three hours writing that post, and I got nine comments?” Sometimes, when I know a post is not very good, it doesn’t affect me.  But on the posts where I hit “publish” thinking, “This is some of my best work,” and I only get five comments, when I have, in the past, gotten 20 or 30 comments on a post like that, it’s just…disheartening, I guess.

Lately, every time I open my laptop, my poor little heart has been broken to see the lack of comments, and finally I realised how ridiculous that perspective is.  I can’t live my life being depressed all the time. I do still write for my readers, true.  And that will never change.  I do thrive on the feedback I get—positive AND negative—and I always will.  But I just got tired of playing the number game with myself, when it so often leaves me feeling depressed.

So now, every time I open my laptop, I don’t have a number in my head as to how many comments I “should” have since the last time I checked.  Now, the number is simply zero, and any emails I get above the number zero are just a bonus…

…I know that emailing is not quite as quick and convenient as leaving a comment, but please feel free to drop me a line any and every time you feel so inclined.  I didn’t close comments because I don’t like hearing from readers—I closed them because I couldn’t stand the rejection of NOT hearing from them anymore.

Does that make sense?

Poor Kyle thinks it’s the dumbest idea I’ve had in a long time.  And who knows, maybe it won’t last…  It’s just an experiment.

So there you have it.  I have turned off comments for the time being (and as soon as I can compel Poor Kyle to make the link disappear altogether, or at the very least say “comments closed,” you’ll be the first to know).  Until then, I’m sorry for the confusion.  I don’t know how long it will last.  I hope none of you feel bad, or think I don’t care what you have to say.  If anything, it’s completely the opposite: I care so much that my poor little heart can’t take the rejection of NOT hearing what you’re saying.

Like I said to Amanda, please feel free to email me any time you’re so inclined.  My address is posted in the sidebar, but for your convenience, I’ll write it again here:

camille[at]archiveslives[dot]com

And that is that.

About Camille

I'm Camille. I have a butt-chin. I live in Canada. I was born in Arizona. I like Diet Dr. Pepper. Hello. You can find me on Twitter @archiveslives, Facebook at facebook.com/archivesofourlives, instagram at ArchivesLives, and elsewhere.
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