If You Don't Write, I Don't Know You're There...

Listen up, readers. The last week I've had about 50-people a day come to this site. I work hard trying to keep it interesting. Just since July 30, I've written about datura, my Irish-Twin sisters, about my second son moving back home at 19, my friend/enemy Lengua--The Tongue--trying to kill me, and Matses Indian women stealing. I've also written three pieces I've taken off until I can write them better: Two about a few stinking, rotten apples I had on a trip in June and one about my wife's new baby that I love way too much for someone who is never going to be called daddy.
I'll repost those three when there is not so much emotion involved: I don't mind sharing my real heart but I get embarrassed sharing my anger/pain/love with nothing to back it up.
Still, if you all think I am going to spend hours daily trying to write interesting stories and you won't even click on one stinking advertiser to let them know we love them and want them there, then you're more innocent than I think you are.
And if you won't write responses to my work: "I hate you, idiot"; "This sucked. My girlfriend forced me to read it," and so forth, then I am going to stop writing the kind of truth that hurts to write. Heck, you want me to write about a movie I saw? (I havn't been to a movie in 7 years, but pretend I go regularly). I can do that. You want me to write about nonsense just to fill a page? I can do that.
But you want me to write to make you laugh and cry? You want me to write to make you evaluate your station in life, to tell you the truth about being a dad in a busted marriage, then I damned well expect you to visit my sponsors and I very very damned well expect you to respond to my missives.
Cause I'm way too old to be writing into a mirror that only I will see.
Peter G