Category: The Wandering Writer

Hell no to Facebook!

As most everyone knows, I’ve come late to the social media party.  After all, my website and blog just got started, and it was only a couple of weeks ago that I joined Twitter, a full three years after most of my writing friends.  There was no reason behind the delay other than that I am more interested in writing fiction than essays and non-fiction.  My main fear was that I would waste precious writing time on something other than my stories and my novel.  So far I’ve been able to balance the two parts of my writing life.  If there ever comes a time when I can’t, the blog and Twitter will go.

There’s a real downside to the blog and Twitter stuff, though.  Suddenly all the Facebook devotees out there assume that since I’ve started with Twitter, it’s just a small step to FB.  Well, let me assure all of you who keep telling me I have to be on FB.  I do NOT have to be on FB.  Let’s go ahead and get this out of the way now, one last time.  For all those reasons you give me why I should be on FB, here’s why I’m not:

  1. It’ll be good for my career.  Actually, the only thing that’s really good for my writing career is writing the best fiction I can write.  And revising it and revising it some more and then submitting it.  Period.
  2. I can keep up with friends and family, and they can keep up with me.  I know the phone numbers and email addresses of my friends and family.  Why do I need to stay in touch with them via public forum?  And if there are people who don’t have my phone number or email address, chances are I didn’t want to give them that information. 
  3. I’ll be able to find my best friend from third grade.  (dumbest of all) If I’d wanted to keep up with my best friend from third grade, I would have.  Just because someone was my friend when I was eight doesn’t mean I will have a damned thing in common with her 40+ years later.  And say that person wants to friend me and I don’t want to be her friend?  Then I’ll have to reject her.  Better for her to think I don’t know how to get in touch than to know that I do but choose not to.

But here’s my major objection to Facebook (apart from the ads).  People share way too much.  They say things they would say chatting with their friends over coffee.  You are not just talking to friends over coffee, folks.  You are putting things out over the big wide web that maybe you should keep to yourself.  Much of it is embarrassing, but lots of it is just plain boring and inane.  Lots of Twitter is boring and inane too, but it’s quicker to skim through to find the links you want, and people on Twitter don’t necessarily expect you to respond.  People who make remarks on your FB wall do.

So, unless something changes dramatically, don’t expect to be my friend on Facebook.  If you want to keep in touch, do it the old fashioned way.  Email me.

Bridges, boats and birds

Dolphin playing in Shem Creek
Dolphin playing in Shem Creek

Yesterday I was lazy.  About my writing, at least.  I spent the day on the water, enjoying the sun and the ocean breeze and the spray off the bow of a boat.  I saw several pods of dolphins playing in Shem Creek, and a flock of pelicans crowded up against a fishing boat.  I hear there’s a family of manatees underneath a dock there, too, but they weren’t out.  Now that I know where to watch for them, though, I’ll keep looking.

I felt guilty for about 3 minutes yesterday as I pulled on my bathing suit and made a conscious decision not to write.  But there are times when we need to refuel, and it was one of those days for me.  I’d been hard at work on the novel, and also finishing up applications for scholarships and residencies, and it was time for a break.  I needed to clear my head to make room for new stuff.

Pelican and friend
Pelican and friend

So I spent the day on the water, and the evening reading.  My idea of the perfect day.  Today I felt rejuvenated, ready to get back to my fictional world.  And while I was working on my tan yesterday, apparently I did get some other work done.  Subconsciously I must have been unraveling a tangled plot point I’ve been having trouble with, because this morning it had worked itself out in my sunburned head.

That’s the thing about being a writer.  I’m always working, either thinking about a story or picking up sights, sounds and smells for new ones.   At least that’s what I like to tell myself as I rub in the sunscreen.

Arthur Ravenel Bridge
Arthur Ravenel Bridge from Mt P to Charleston

Liar, liar

“Fiction is the truth inside the lie.”
— Stephen King

When people ask me why I write, I often tell them it’s because I like to make things up, and that fiction writers are the only people I know who lie and (sometimes) get paid for it.

Since I first learned to string sentences together I’ve exaggerated stories to make them more interesting and to get bigger reactions out of my listeners.  But while it’s cute at four to claim that your lost book got stolen by a monster who eats paper for breakfast, by eight or nine, unfair as it might be, you can’t get away with that sort of creativity.  Not that I quit trying.  It just didn’t go over very well anymore.

Then I started reading and I realized that writers were allowed to tell the kinds of stories I liked to tell, full of pretend people doing things that didn’t really happen. They made stuff up, fun interesting stuff nobody expected to be true.  Once I figured that out, I knew I had to be a writer. 

As a kid my daughter Allison had an imaginary friend who hung around much longer than most imaginary friends do, probably because Ali had created such a complex and detailed life for her that she became real to my daughter.  She couldn’t quit believing in Mary Camelson.  She actually had to kill her off to get rid of her, so one day Mary was run over by a car.  I think I mourned her loss longer than Ali.

That’s what being a writer means to me.  Believing in the fictitious so completely that it becomes true.  Wanting to know what the story means, how it ends, and what happens to those made up but very real characters.  Working to get at the truth inside the lies, as Steven King said. 

And of course the best part is I get to have all the imaginary friends I want.  And nobody can call me a liar when I make up stories about them.