How To Be A ProBlogger (Not Really).

If you are reading this, I’m probably in Melbourne right now for DPCon’12. Hopefully. Or else I’ve slept through my alarm and have missed my flight by a good few hours. But that does seem doubtful, considering I have to be at the airport in six hours and haven’t packed yet.

Last year was the inaugural AusBlogCon. Just over a year has passed since I proved to myself, for the first time, that I am a survivor.

Whatever. Enough mushy stuff. I’ve been to a few events in the last week where I’ve caught up with my fellow bloggers. I have never felt so comfortable or so much myself as when I’m in a room full of people who speak fluent geek with a hashtag accent.

Fellow geek and problogger Suger, pic stolen from her IG feed. She was one of my first ever blog followers and won my first blog comp- The Crappest GiveAway Ever. Appropriate, being Suger and all.

So, in honor of how much I love youse all, especially my fellow Top 50 bloggers– or probloggers, as the case may be– I’ve decided to publish the best advice I’ve got, as requested quite a while back, on how to  become– and stay– a problogger.

Now, before anyone gets their knickers in a proverbial twist– this is written with my tongue planted quite firmly in my cheek. If you would prefer me not to be such a smart arse (heh), I have published real, actual social media hints and blogging tips before. But this post is taking the piss. Out of myself. And those like–minded bloggers around me; who passionately adore writing, lovee their blogs… but really have no idea what they’re doing or why they’re any good at it.

The 2012 Kidspot Top 50. That’s me, scratching the bonnet of the car. Again.Thanks to JuicySlices IG feed for the pic.

‘How to sell your soul, sell yourself out, work your fingers to the bone, slave over a slightly heated iPad all day’… Or, ‘How to be a problogger.’

Remember– no one cares. You are a blogger, dammit; and blog you will, come rain, hail, appendicitis or dead husbands. You’re sick/tired/pregnant/having an existential crisis/being evicted/have been kidnapped by a band of rogue trolls…? Initially the sympathy will flow. This is lip service. No one actually cares why you’re not blogging, just that you are not blogging, and their morning Woog fix hasn’t showed in their Reader yet. Which is completely understandable. Think about it this way– when was the last time you saw David Letterman take a night off?

Thy blog is thy temple. And thou shall tweet treat it as such, offering sacrifices of wisdom and wit to the holy Trinity of Twitter, FaceBook and the Google God (who I’m fairly sure considers Google+ to be some kind of splinter section cult).


You must reply to every single email. Always. You will blog for an hour a day, and answer emails for six. Establish yourself an email auto–pilot persona so complete it even replies to offers from Dannii’s *Big Boobs!!!!* with a polite “Please keep me in the loop for future events” and a copy of your media kit.

What the f*ck do you mean “What is a media kit?”!?!?! Back of the blogging class, please.

Remember- every PR person is trying to rip you off, take over your blog, and fill it with video ads for Nestlé. Respond to their emails in a tone similar to one you would use for people who drown Furbies or Zhu Zhu pets or kittens or something.

Write an e-book. About anything. At all. Or at the very least contribute to one. Charge 99 cents a copy for it and change your business card to read “Published Author”. It’s called ‘shameless self promotion‘ and it works.

Attend the opening of an envelope. Erm…that’s me with a cardboard cut out of Rob The Dentist. Oh, and that’s me with Abby Cadabby. And oh, look, there’s me next to Anna Fare and Miranda Kerr’s mum! (Pictures completely unrelated to point. Obviously. See you next month at Samsung!)


Do not ever, ever, ever call yourself a mummy blogger. Personal blogger, parenting blogger, lifestyle blogger, grief blogger, humour blogger, niche blogger, whatever. But you are not, ever, under any circumstances, a mummy blogger.


Have price tags and make them nonnegotiable. Charge for absolutely everything. Really. I don’t care if that child is missing a leg and has to walk six kilometers to school carrying his pet iguana on his back. My sidebar is valuable real estate, dammit, and it will stay that way.


If you have a secret, confess it. It’s great for your stats. People love a nice bloody, gory car crash; the more bod bits strewn over the kerb the better.


Always, always, always carry a camera. Always. Get one built into your retina if you can. Because you just never know when you’ll capture a magical moment like this. Or this. Or this. Or even this.

And that’s about… that. DP bloggers, if you happen to see me around today, please come and say hello. And don’t punch me, not for this post– I’m almost positive it will only make me worse.

Cheers, jellybeans– as I said, I adore you people, bloggers and readers and occasional drop-in’s and random Google bots alike. Happy DPCon’12! (I know, I know, mOmmy bloggers, you’ve been there, done all this brand new conference stuff… but us Aussie’s are still catching up).