The briefest of victory dances

One of my many LinkedIn groups is – was – a writer’s group.

I joined it primarily because the name was cool. I checked out updates, when they came, and went about my business.

But I never got that involved. At least, not until the angry, mass e-mail.

The founder of the group – who had created it to encourage discussion AND promote his magazine – was absolutely furious. Apparently he wanted to know why so few people were using the group and he put up a poll for us to take. Over the course of 3 weeks, only two people had responded. He called us all shiftless and worthless, and accused us of joining the group to ‘Pad (Our) Resumes.’ And he promised to take the group down if there wasn’t a sincere response within the week.

When given the choice, I usually chip in to make sure online endeavors stay alive. So I went to the group’s page to see what had been going on. I had forgotten why I’d been paying a minimal amount of attention to the group… and revisiting going back refreshed my memory.

Unlike my other groups there was no reason for the members to interact. There were no job postings, no consistent writing contests, and no daily or weekly posts by the Group’s creator.

So I wrote a long response to the group. I mentioned that it was no wonder that the things had stagnated, if those who ran it weren’t making a consistent effort to stir the proverbial pot.

I even ended the post with the catchy sentence: “YOU sent out these invitations, it’s YOUR job to host.”

Perhaps it was a sign of my critical prowess that the group was closed shortly thereafter.

Of course, my smugness only lasted for a moment. I had to remind myself that my own blog had been sitting alone, bereft of new content, for at least a month.

D’oh.