Kittens, Bacon and Self-Control — or, Just Skip That Meme

I was perusing Facebook, minding my own business, when I saw it. I knew it would happen eventually. The hive mentality of social media made it inevitable: take a good idea, make it your own (usually with kittens) and post it. Our Seven Degrees of Bacon world will bring it around to me, eventually — and this morning, it did just that.

I didn't want to see it. It's not my cuppa. In fact, it's my anti-cuppa. I know that, and you know that — but you weren't thinking of me. I just got caught in the trolling net, pressed against your "clever" meme. I think I got a rash from it.

So I did what any self-respecting social media user would do under the circumstances: I hid it.

If all we did was agree to disagree, I could live with it. However, this was more than that: your meme disturbed me. I wasn't "uncomfortable," and you didn't just "push the boundaries." It's not the bacon, or the duct-taped nipples, the smart-ass comments about the bone-head politician you love to hate. It's more. I bet you knew that when you posted it — and that's why you posted it.

Because You Are Right — And If You Share That Information, I Will Come To My Senses.

I already have limited what I see, but, alas, that filter isn't perfect. I can't leave the social media conversation without leaving you — which I know would hurt you deeply. Intellectually, you'd think, "No big deal." But we both know your heart, and it would crack, just a little.

In a true social setting, you and I could have avoided the topic. Well, probably, depending on who else was in the room. If it was your brother-in-law or cousin, I'd be as successfully netted and dragged along. However, in conversation, I would have found a common ground. I would have deflected, or changed the subject, maybe even excused myself to pour bleach in my ears to wash out what I just heard.

However, on social media, you think you're sharing with only the people with whom you agree. We all do. In the thrill of the meme, we hit the "share" button instantly. We forget that social media is one big party where everyone wears their most obnoxious novelty t-shirts — and gnash their teeth at everyone else's t-shirts.

I love you. I love you deeply and with a fierceness that always surprises me. I will hold your hand in the parking lot to keep you safe, give you the plane ticket to get home, drive all night to rescue you if your car stops working. I'll be your safe house, your hiding place.

And yet, on social media, you'll push bacon memes in my face, and I'll push kittens in yours. You think yours are funny/inspiring/truthy, I think mine are harmless. And yet we both have hives.

So today, I showed a little self-restraint: I didn't tweet my smart aleck comment. Somehow, I knew you'd know it was about you, even if I made it vague. Even if I didn't mention the bacon. I knew you'd know. More importantly, I would know.

After that, I skipped something I was going to share. I like edgy from time to time, and so do you. However, this one... It was clever, direct and unflinching. So why did I flinch? I mentally went through my (admittedly modest) list of contacts and saw your name. I knew it would bother you, and I had to choose. I chose you.

This hard-won, late-to-the-game awareness exhausts me almost as much as the social media itself. It's only funny until someone gets hurt — then, depending on your meme, it's "freakin' hilarious" or it's over. I suppose time will tell which I choose.

NaNoWriMo: Ten Steps to Becoming a Better Writer

Thank you for stopping by during NaNoWriMo. Now, break over. Get back to writing. See you soon!

NaNoWriMo: On the Other Side

November was a crazy month that included a lingering sinus infection, a major multi-day holiday, a friend's wedding, weird weather and my attempt at writing a novel.

Guess which one I liked the most? (No, you wise acres, not the sinus infection!)

National Novel Writing Month was an experience that reinforced what most productive writers understand: don't wait for "inspiration" — create it.  Every day, as I sit at the computer for work, I dredge up material for the assorted projects. Not everything that comes out of my brain and fingers is award-winning.  Some days are better than others. Some days I'm on fire and others I just show up and type materials that are "good enough." Some days the words are stellar and others it's just enough to get the job done.

The difference between a good day and a bad day: on a bad day, I don't even show up.  And that, my friends, is the definition of failure.

I'm not saying every bit of junk we produce needs to see the light of day.  In fact, I don't intend to show my "novel" to more than one or two souls.  However, I followed the objectives of the project established by NaNoWriMo and managed to succeed. I created a document totaling 50, 202 words between November 1-30.

Why?

Well, why not?

On November 1, I scratched my head and wondered exactly what in the world I was going to write — until I remembered: The Foreigner!  Well, I didn't remember it by name, but I remembered the play description. The play is about a shy man who pretends to not know English on a cruise full of English-speaking people.  What other situations can create opportunities for people to share information, confess, reveal or otherwise communicate?

I came up with one. It involved The Cowboy.

Not every word was stellar.  In fact, much of it probably was contrived, and possibly impossible to read.  The chapters that feature The Cowboy, however, were ingenious, if I dare say so myself.  There may be a story in there somewhere, or bits of one, or even a short story that can be edited and re-purposed.  Maybe. I won't make any promises.  I wrote many, many pages of words, and some of those words (beyond articles and conjunctions) may be of use at some point in the future. But really, I don't care. What I do care is that I know I can do something like that, possibly even better, in the future. All it takes is the precious commodity of time — which, for the story burning in me is a small price to pay.

Thanks, NaNoWriMo.  If I can pull it off again next year, maybe I'll even come up with a story and outline in October.

And the rest of you: what are you waiting for? You can wait until next November — or you can start now to warm up for the next one. I think I'll choose the latter.  Let me know which you choose.

In November, Go NaNoWriMo!

It may be folly, but I have taken on a new task: writing a novel.

I'm under no illusion that my will be good, or even readable.  I hope to learn something from it, and maybe even come up with a character or short story or two that can be salvaged.  But I am keeping even those hopes modest.

This is all part of a national movement to get people writing, National Novel Writing Month (affectionately knows as NaNoWriMo).  The stated goal:finishing a 50,000 word-novel by November 30.  Some people worry about finishing their novel, some worry about a word count.  Frankly, I just worry that I'll have something worth my time by the end of the month.

Thankfully, I'm not alone in my quest.  I have suckered a few other people in, and they also have modest hopes.  One is a novelist who wants to start a new story.  Another is a self-proclaimed "non-writer" who has stories in her head.  Still another wants to give it a try because it sounds like fun.  The last in this motley crew is working on something in her head but hasn't gotten anything on paper yet.

And whose brilliant idea was this?  Well, I was the one to rally the troops.  To be fair, I wouldn't have considered it had another writer not suggested it, but in the end, it's all my fault.  I took up the baton and started running.  Amazing how often the folks who are ready to grab the baton are those I would never have expected — but who make for fantastic partners.  So far, I even met another new (to me) writer whose sense of humor makes me laugh, especially since I would never have said it as well as he (whatever "it" is: horror, King Arthur, psychotics).

I nearly forgot to offer a summary of the story!  Here it is: it's about someone who must listen.  The main character is dying.  Sheis told if she listens to people who need to "unburden" themselves, she will benefit.  She has a choice: listen or not. You'd think it would be easy, but how easy is it to really listen when you are yourself in need of an ear?

My goal: 2,000 words a day through the month of November (taking an occasional day off for, say, Thanksgiving or a friend's anniversary or wedding) (not the same friend).  So far, I'm on track: I've written one good chapter, one mediocre chapter, one awful one and one that I'm afraid to re-read because I liked it as I wrote it. Total so far: 11,972 words — not bad for a poet who tries to keep her work at a single page.

I'll let you know how it's going.  And if you want, give it a try.  Sure, you're a week behind, but has that ever stopped you? Er, don't answer that.  Just... give it a shot, and let me know how you're faring.