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Dozens of you asked what happened to my stats when I was Freshly Pressed.

Well, maybe a handful of readers asked.

Er, make that a few people.

Ok, ok, ok, I confess . . . one person inquired. It was the elderly lady in front of me in the grocery store checkout line who feigned interest when I rambled on about being Freshly Pressed. She said, “Yes, dear. I believe the Freshly Pressed dryer sheets are on Aisle 9.”

I feel rather uncomfortable bragging talking about my stats. I wouldn’t want you to think I am the bragadocious sort. So, what I will talk about is the overall experience.

On Monday, November 26th, I did a post titled, “Is Cursive Handwriting Dead?” A newspaper article about the elimination of cursive handwriting from many school’s curriculum inspired me to write the post. The issue struck a nerve with my regular buddies and we had a lively conversation.

On Thursday of the same week, I received an email from WordPress saying I was to be “Pressed” in a day or two.  Whaaaaaaaaaa? Me? No way, Jose.

I refused to look at my email for the rest of the day for fear there would be another one from WordPress saying:

Dear Ms. Coyle:

We made a terrible mistake. We meant to send that email to Ms. Doyle. There will be no Freshly Pressed for you!


Your Friends at WordPress

On Friday of that week, my husband and I went to San Francisco for the weekend. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Until . . . 1:00 pm when blog comments started flooding in. I though, “Oh look! Everyone is so engaged in blogging today.” Then I looked at my stats. Yowza.

My phone vibrated so often with comment alerts that I suspect our hotel-room-neighbors suspected we were up to something else.

As we watched the view number rise and comments roll in, my husband said, “Do you think you will reach 500 views today?” “Nah . . . That is not going to happen!”

We were in San Francisco for fun, and my husband’s idea of a good time isn’t watching me answer comments. He is funny that way. So, I figured I would attend to the comments after our weekend get-away.

At the end of Day One of being Freshly Pressed I had 1,204 views.

The next morning, figuring the Freshly Pressed moment was over, I looked at my stats with mild interest. I had several hundred views before I had a chance to brush my teeth. I thought, “Surely this will slow down now. Who wants to read a post about handwriting?”

Day Two: 1,537 views

Day Three: 1,043 views

Day Four: 685 views

From then on, it has been a slow decline in viewership, but it is still a far cry from what it was pre-Freshly-Pressed-ness.

I gained 192 new followers thanks to being Freshly Pressed. A handful of those folks continue to come around for a cup of coffee and comment. I guess I bored the rest of them.

My post had 464 people “like” it but there are only 100 or so of those Gravatar-thingys. Anyone know why?

I lost track of how many times the post was re-blogged and pingbacked. Let’s just say dozens.

Let’s also talk about the comments. I couldn’t keep up. Like I said, we were in San Francisco when I was Freshly Pressed. I left for Portland the next day to move my mom into an Alzheimer’s home. I thought, “No problem. I’ll answer comments in the evenings while recovering from the trauma of facing Mom’s illness head on.”

Like that was going to happen.

My evenings were spent swilling valium-laced cocktails. Moving Mom was harder than I thought it would be. I answered many comments, but many more were left hanging in the lurch. What is a lurch, anyway?

So, the post received 490 comments (some of them mine). If I had time to answer all the comments and engage more with the folks who stopped by, I wonder if more of the new followers would have stuck around for more than a quickie.

Maybe in the Freshly Pressed Hall of Fame my stats are pathetic and WordPress is thinking about revoking my status. Maybe these numbers don’t impress the likes of you who get 1,500+ views on a slow day, but I have to say, it was a big dealio for me.

The Freshly Pressed experience was humbling, exhilarating, and overwhelming. It was like competing in a lumberjack logrolling contest wearing flip-flops . . . hard to keep up.

Would I like to have the experience again? You betcha!

Little "ol me!

Little “ol me!


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