OMG I'm this blog post!

“Write me,” said a blog post. It wasn’t actually a  post at the time. It was just a sentence. Then it was several sentences. It had ambition. It continued to grow. And eventually, it became a blog post. This one. But that came later.

“Write me,” it repeated, earlier.

“Sorry,” I said. “What are you?” I knew what it was. I’d already explained what it was two paragraphs ago. But asking this unnecessary question was a useful way to move the narrative along. So I asked it. Or had asked it.

“I’m a blog post,” it said. “Or actually I’m a wannabe blog post. I’m four paragraphs long right now, or I will be once you finish writing this one. As you said, I have ambition. I want to be a complete post. I want to be published on your blog. I want to exist on the internet, which is reality as blog posts see it, and not just in your imagination. Please write me, and post me. I can’t exist without you.”

“That’s true,” said the book that I had been writing when the sentence that wanted to become a blog post appeared in the current chapter. “Once I was just a sentence that wanted to be a book, so I know how it feels to want to be written. And even though I haven't been written completely, I've been happy being written and I don’t mind if you take time to write that post.”

“Are you sure?” I asked to the book. I'd been writing it for a while, and I was sure that I knew it well enough to be certain that it wouldn’t mind. But I asked it anyway: partly as a token of respect and partly for expository purposes. I knew that you readers--who could not have read the book, since it hadn’t been published--might not understand the book’s point of view.

“I didn’t need an explanation,” some readers might have said, sometime in the future. “But thanks anyway.”

“Thanks for explaining it,” some other readers might have said.

“It wasn’t necessary,” still other readers might have said once I'd finished the book. “We've read the book, and didn't come across this post until after the book was published.”

“I’m sure I don't mind,” said the book, moving the readers' attention through time. “In fact, I encourage you. Finish the post. You can make it part of me. Two birds with one stone.”

“Thank you,” the post-in-process said to the book. “You are very kind.”

“De nada,” said the book.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” a sentence stated. “Actually, I am an idea. I’m the idea of modifying the CSS for one of the DIVs in this post so that it’s pink. Then the book can say that it blushed.”

“No offense intended,” a passive aggressive sentence began, “but that’s a stupid idea. Or you are.”

“Don’t read that sentence,” said the book to the post, the idea, and to the readers. But it was too late. They'd already read it. “Never mind,” the book continued. “Just forget it.” Surprisingly, they all forgot. Except for a few readers. Perhaps you were one.

“Thanks,” said the blog post. Then, “Hey, I think I could be done.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Well, I could be longer," it answered, "but I don’t need to be. I don’t want to be a book. Just a simple blog post. You and the book and the readers have made me into what I am. Even the passive aggressive sentence helped."

The nearly completed post thought for a moment. "Yeah, I'm happy the way that I am.

"So please copy-paste me into a new post for your blog. Clean up spelling and grammar errors and do a little editing.

"And then post me."

And so I did.