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Daily Prompt: Origin Story — Goal Free and Destination Unknown

I started blogging because it was Thursday or Tuesday … or maybe Monday and I didn’t have any reason not to. I didn’t have anything specific in mind and I had no plans. I felt like writing and since I’ve always been a professional writer, I couldn’t see much point in writing if no one what going to read it. I don’t need another by-line. Got plenty of those. A by-line and $7.50 might buy me a cup of coffee if I don’t want one of the really big ones. Or something with foam.

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I’d been following a couple of blogs on WordPress and had signed up so I didn’t have to identify myself each time I wanted to comment. That was in February 2012. I didn’t actually do anything more except name it and write an “About Me” page until June and didn’t get “into it” until September when the election stuff all over the Internet got totally crazy.

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I dislike ignorance. I resent millions of people who think you can get all the facts you need by watching Fox News … or for that matter, by listening to the opinions of those who watch it, then repeating what they heard as if it were facts. It made me crazy too, so I spent a lot of time checking out rumors, “opinions,” so-to-speak facts, then writing my stuff or reblogging commentaries by people who seemed to still have some contact with planet Earth.

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When the election finally ended and we had a nation full of sore losers whining about how they wuz cheated, I wrote about that along the lines of “shut up, take your marbles, go home and wait for the next election.” An opinion I still hold.

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Then I shut up too because sometimes, silence is the best answer you can give.

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After that, I started writing about whatever I felt like writing. I discovered the joy of reviewing books which worked out well since reading has always been my number one form of entertainment. I treated myself to some good camera equipment and upgraded my processing tools … and that’s pretty much where I have stayed.

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My life is a disorderly, sometimes scary, often a painful disaster area. So there’s always something awful going on. And I’m old enough and I’ve been around, so I’ve got a backlog of stories — true stories no less — to tell. When I remember one, I tell it. Preferably with humor because whining is boring. Even I find my whining boring, so I can only imagine how dull you find it.

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I’m opinionated. Ask anyone who knows me. Not only am I opinionated, but I can be on either side of any issue because I’m a Pisces and I agree with everyone, more or less … or at least, I understand their point of view, even if I hold a different one. Everyone owns at least a bit of the truth except some annoying morons that I wouldn’t mind shooting with a big gun to which I am entitled by my second amendment rights (you pointed it out, not me). But guns costs money and I don’t have any, so I guess I’ll have to use words. But a gun, now that would add a bit of spice.

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Has my blog changed? Often. And I’m sure it will keep changing. It isn’t evolution. It’s just me getting bored with doing the same thing all the time.

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I find a new template I like and switch to it. An idea scurries across my brain? I write about it. A spider crawls up my leg? I yell ‘EEK’ and that’s a post. I watch a movie and review it. I have a stack of virtual books to read and review that leaves me not a minute to spare. Sometimes I have trouble finding enough hours to sleep.

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And then there’s my health (ha!) about which the less said, the better. But I’ll still talk about it because life and death have a lot of impact and can’t be ignored. Not completely, anyhow, though Lord knows I wish I could.

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I write what I think will make others laugh or at least smile. Sometimes I write stuff I think may prove useful in solving problems.  I display pictures I enjoyed taking which are pretty or interesting to look at.

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I have no goals at all. I have no ambitions. Ambition left home without me about a decade ago, along with my health. I’m not in it for money. I write because I’m a writer and a blog lets me put my writing in front of eyes that may read it. I take pictures because I love to take pictures and displaying them makes me happy.

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Am I supposed to have a lofty objective? Something important I need to achieve? Because I don’t.

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If the lack of ambition means I’m a failure, so be it. I lack objectives. There is no distant destination I feel I need to reach, though there are places I wish I could go …. just because they are beautiful and I’d like to go there.

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I wish I were making money at this. I need a mobility scooter. I need a stair lift. I want that cool new camera Panasonic just put out. Lacking capital, I hope my writing keeps getting better and eventually I get rid of typos. Take better pictures.

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And hope you’ll enjoy them. If that’s not goal enough … oh well. C’est la vie.

 

On Being Obsolete

I was declared obsolete about 5 years ago. I had been getting progressively less relevant for a while, but after the dot coms went down in flames, the high-tech world changed dramatically. Venture capital disappeared and with it, the exciting little start-up companies that had been my bread and butter for decades.

Tech writers were replaced by automated systems. No one cared anymore whether or not the material produced was useful. Now that tech support had been exported, the same thinking was applied to documentation. It was declared unnecessary. Need help? Just call tech support on the other side of the world. Let your customers wait on hold, get disconnected multiple times, and finally, let them talk to someone who knows nothing and will provide dangerously incorrect information. Never provide a call back number so if the solution doesn’t work — and mostly, it won’t — make them go through the whole thing again. What could go wrong with this? Who needs writers?

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A lot has gone wrong with this and much to my personal satisfaction, though rather late for my career, companies are discovering that people who buy expensive gear really do want documentation. They get downright irritable when their $5000 camera doesn’t have a  manual.

I never intended to be a technical writer. I was going to be a “real” writer … great novels … literature. No idea what I would write about, but I would write, that was for sure. I did write many books, but just one novel. Everything else would be information and/or instructions and highly technical at that. For a gal who barely scraped through basic algebra and never finished a single physics or chemistry course, I picked up a lot along the way.

I started out with high literary hopes. I was an editor at Doubleday in the mid 1970s. Those were the halcyon days of publishing. We actually read manuscripts and were given TIME to read. People belonged to book clubs. Everyone read. There was TV, but you didn’t have 1000 channels and depending on how good your antenna was, you might not get much of anything except snow.

At the beginning of 1979, I moved to Israel and set up a life in Jerusalem.

It turned out that the only kind of writing done entirely in English rather than Hebrew, was technical writing. I wanted to earn a living, so if technical writing was what was available, I would be one. I moved from typewriters to computers and did so with a song in my heart. From the first time I discovered electronic cut-and-paste, I knew I’d found my milieu. I became part of the development team for DB-1, the first relational database. DB-1 was first developed in Israel at the Weizmann Institute in Rehovot. IBM bought the product and proceeded to market it. It revolutionized the information world … and with the slightly later creation of data object linking, the guts of the Internet we all take so much for granted today was created.

I rode the high-tech wave until I became officially obsolete having been informed that “no one reads manuals.” Which is why I can’t figure out how to change the ISO setting on my camera. I can’t find the menu. The manual, probably produced by an automated process, doesn’t explain how to find anything and there are a frightening number of menus and layers of menus within menus, but I hope someday I will find the setting. I wouldn’t mind finding the metering control either. And a few other things.  But I digress …

Thus I designed my downfall because simultaneously with databases, I worked on “artificial intelligence” (aka “bots”) systems. They were rough but the technology evolved very fast.

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AI came of age in the 1990s and replaced people in a lot of areas. The most common example and possibly the most annoying is the “telephone tech support robot” … that stupid automated voice-activated telephone system that sends you into apoplectic fits as you attempt to get past it to talk to a human. Personally, I have found that shouting “Agent, agent, agent” at every prompt and repeatedly hitting zero usually gets me there. But they are getting trickier about that. Eventually, we will never be allowed to speak to a real live human being on the telephone and if we do, he or she will be about as helpful as the robot was.

The switch from human to “bot” has been particularly pernicious in the world of publishing. I enthusiastically helped build this world in which I am now obsolete, so  the irony is not lost on me.

Modern authoring goes kind of like this: You write a book. You figure you’ve completed the hardest part and all you have to do is show it to someone who will read it. He or she will like it or not, and maybe you’ll have to show it to a bunch of people until finally, you get published.

Actually, the hard part is just beginning. You are now in a world controlled by “bots.”  Gone are human acquisitions editors who read manuscripts and might notice that a manuscript, with some effort, could be a great book.  Publishing houses do not accept manuscripts or even proposals directly from authors. You need an agent. Agents also use “bots” to search emails for key words, buzz words. If they do not find the words for which they are programmed to search, your inquiry goes to the cyber version of the circular file. If you don’t grab the interest of a piece of software in 500 words or less, you are not going to find an agent or publisher.

Max Perkins would never find a job In publishing today, Thomas Wolfe wouldn’t get a reading, much less mentoring. Would anyone publish Hemingway? William Faulkner? Or for that matter, J.R.R. Tolkien? There are far fewer publishers than there used to be, probably because there are also fewer readers. Those halcyon days really were “of yore.”

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Fewer publishers, fewer books being published  and that means that those wonderful old brick and mortar bookstores have virtually disappeared. Here and there, one survives, but where once there were many, now they are fast becoming extinct. In another generation, I’ll bet there will be none at all. Bookstores? My town doesn’t have one. There’s a Barnes and Noble 20 miles away at a mall, but it’s not a “real” bookstore anymore. In all of New England there are probably fewer than a couple of dozen honest-to-goodness bookstores and that includes Boston.

I wrote a book. It was nothing earth-shattering. Not bad, but unlikely to rock the literary world. The point is I sent (via email) proposals, sample chapters, letters, whatever they specified. I sent these inquiries, proposals, etcetera to countless agents and publishers. It turned out marketing was the critical component to getting published.  The quality of the book never entered the equation. My book was never rejected. No editor so much as glanced at it.

I flunked marketing. When at last I was able to get an introduction to a real live agent, he died a couple of weeks later, before I had the opportunity to meet him. I took that as a Sign and self-published. At least I had the experience — and specialized software — to put together a press-ready book.

I love the Internet, but miss people. We no longer get to look one another in the eye. We can’t read each others’ faces, judge meaning by intonation or body language. We can’t hug. We don’t get to ‘pitch’ ideas. Not every person can fit their ideas into 500 words or less to be read by a robot. It’s an entirely different skill set than authoring. Ironically, I am one of those who has no knack for marketing myself, even though I wrote marketing material for others. I just can’t market my stuff. It’s different when it’s your own.

It’s a strange world. It’s no less strange than the fantasy worlds about which I read in my favorite novels. Exactly where do reality and fantasy separate? At what point do technology and magic separate?

This is the world I helped build so how dare I complain?

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Daily Prompt: Morton’s Fork – Hobson may have a choice, but I don’t

I'm part of Post A Day 2012

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The question posed is as follows:

If you had to choose between being able to write a blog (but not read others’) and being able to read others’ blogs (but not write your own), which would you pick? Why?

For me, the answer is a no-brainer. I would write. Why? Because I am a writer. If I could not write, something in me would die. When asked “what are you,” I never immediately think I’m a wife, mother, grandmother or even that I’m a woman. I automatically and instantly respond that “I’m a writer.”

Being a writer is so much a part of my identity that if I am not that, then I am not sure what I am. Writing was my profession, but I was a writer before I earned my living writing. I have been out of the job market for more than a decade and I am still a writer.

Unlike other professions … and probably this is true of the arts in general, not just writing … what you do is more than how you earn your living. It’s a drive, an instinct, the way you synthesize your world and experiences. It stays with you as long as you breathe, long after the paychecks stop coming and often, even though the paychecks never started coming.

Writing is so deeply embedded in who I am that I cannot imagine not needing to write.  I think only death will stop me … and depending on how that works out, maybe not even that. If there’s an afterlife, I’ll be blogging about it.

Reading blogs is wonderfully inspirational for me and I would miss it greatly  … but there are books, newspapers, all other literary and news inputs. Writing can’t be replaced. There in no substitute for it. Nothing else could fill that space.

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  • “The 12-Foot Teepee (Book Review)”. Anti Essays. 5 Dec. 2012: NOTE: This is a review of my novel. It is supposed to be free and available, but the site on which it is posted (Anti Essays) says that due to technical difficulties, none of the free essays on the site are accessible without paying them money. Do NOT pay them money. Read what you can without payment (which is most of the essay, fortunately) and then forget it. They call it a technical problem. I call it fraud.
  • Daily Prompt: Hobson’s Choice (writinglikeastoner.wordpress.com)
  • Daily Prompt: Hobson’s Choice (burningfireshutinmybones.wordpress.com)
  • Why read blogs? (bottledworder.wordpress.com)