I’m trying to reopen The Deepening, not as an online fiction magazine, but as a stimulating place to discover the joys of reading fiction. I have a category called Peek Behind the Scenes which is supposed to give a look into the creative minds responsible for the stories. Unfortunately, nothing much comes up in the way of “interesting” when it comes to many writers. Most writers are REALLY BORING. A look at their forums and their blogs will confirm this if you doubt me.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know authors who ARE exciting people. Their minds are constantly abuzz with what-ifs, they are forever rolling out new ideas, playing with possibilities, toying with potentials. A few. Some really good ones, too. But the majority? Omigod. Dry, boring, awful. The only thing coming out of their fingers when it isn’t fiction is their medical history, their love life, and their daily routines from brushing their teeth to their craving for adulation and praise (”Pweez, pweez, wuv my stories and gimme lotz and lotz of muny.”)
I’m sorry, but if the best thing an author has to offer as insight is some sappy, giddiness about how much they totally adore the false flattery given them by some reviewer they paid, or, worse, some whiny moan about how hard it is to get published, nobody cares, especially me. What I want to hear is how they conceive their worlds, what generates an idea to form itself into a plot, what drives them to create characters and how they make them so real that their readers want to know more and more about those characters.
What drives the ideas? What music, sounds, visions, happenings? What happens inside them to make such magic happen with words (if what they do is any good, that is…which, for the majority who call themselves writers, isn’t)?
What do I see and hear from writers, though?
“I’ve got an adorable baby, a husband, a cat, and a dog. I live in Anytown, AnyCountry. I want to be rich and famous someday. I love my new patio, and my favorite color is red.”
OR
“I’m simply the most marvelous thing since chocolate syrup. You really will love my new book called Sonya’s Sunshine Dream and you need to buy a copy over at BlankDotCom where all my books are published by DumbSap Publishing.”
OR
“Those rotten publishers and agents won’t even look at my book. They didn’t even have the courtesy to respond to my query until over six months after I sent it in. And then they said no. I mean, sure their guidelines say ninety days, but I’m special….”
Um…get a life?
Of course, artists aren’t much better, and neither are muscians, but, right now, I’m ranting on writers because it seems to me that I should be able to look somebody up and they should have more in their bio and on their blog than “I’m married and have two kids…,” ”My eczema is better,” ”I just finished tidying up my closet…,” or “I just got rejected again….”
Nobody cares. Really. Give us some insights into what catalyzes your creativity, what excites you, what makes you write a pulse-pounding story. Else, hang it up. Don’t say anything. That would do you less harm.
I’m tired of caring when nobody else does. I’m tired of working while others sit on their leisure asses complaining they don’t have any time for themselves. I’m tired of being responsible. I’m tired. Time to regroup, think, contemplate.
My sight is acting up again, too. Time to get away from the computer except for necessary and desired.
I haven’t had any sleep…well, a nap of minutes, but that doesn’t count. Today is quiet — blissfully quiet. Whenver it rains, the world turns quiet, and it’s GREAT. I love the rain. I love that people stay in their homes sulking, allowing me to enjoy quietude. It’s wonderful.
Of course, I’m a little depressed, too. I just got wind of some more very ugly, ugly plans for the area and the neighborhood. I need to move far, far away where no human, only nature, moves the landscape. I absolutely abhor development of any kind. We’re just marring the planet. Ugly.
Know what we need? A world-wide virus to sterilize the entire human race and another one to attack any clones or in vitro fertilization attempts. Until we’re down to a stable population under 1 billion world wide. Then we need something to make sure we keep it at that level forever.
CSS that’s “W3 compliant” sucks. Why? Because any script, like those doing previews at snap.com takes it and makes it look like SHIT. My “partial remodel” job of this very old site, using div containers instead of tables, everything mapped out on a pixel grid, wound up looking GREAT in all popular browsers, from opera to firefox to IE. It even looked good on older browsers…and on Macs. Then I had snap.com do a “preview” of it.
GASP! Quick, get the OLD index back up there!
*sigh*
Back to tables.
One email I got today was simply curious what I mean by: “Infinity & Beyond, Forever.” They ventured to suggest that it sounded a bit arrogant, officious, or juvenile.
Well, first, let it be known, I NEVER, EVER grew up. (I’m only five-foot-five…and that’s stretching it.) More, though, I am perpetually the curious six-year-old — always exploring, investigating, thinking about “stuff,” and observing. My persistent question is “why.” (Used to drive my teachers CRAZY!)
Aside from that fact, here is where that comes from. I have a saying when teaching the zentao thoughtway: “Take it to infinity, then take it beyond.” This is a perpetual (the forever part) admonishment when exploring any posit, precept, idea, concept, ideological perspective….
So that’s its explanation. I might change it, but, right now, in the flurry of trying to juggle running five businesses, keep up with phone calls and email, keep an eye on the servers, websites, and do some actual coding and graphic work, as well as setting up the links, look, and accessories that this blog and website needs, well, that’s lower down on my list. 
Toast comes in many shapes, kinds, and textures, never mind flavors.
…So do people.
Toshiba laptops — I swear by them. I can access from everywhere…almost…anytime day or night. Good thing when you have to keep an eye on the herds and hoards of websites I’m responsible for. Home or office, traveling or vegging out, my laptop is always handy, and my “server down” pager is always on. That’s why I suppose this website will probably be a success. Right now, I’m waiting for several call-backs, emails, and a program to finish rendering out a graphic, so, multi-tasker twitching with a list of to-dos that are just begging to be checked off as soon as everyone gets back to me, I’m typing here. Here is nice, too. I practically live on the computer, so, for me, so long as I can say whatever I want, blogging is cake.
Does this blog seem negative? Not meaning for it to be. Blogging is one of those things that I’m doing now to vent my moments, which use to be typed in an on-computer journal. Might seem all negative, but the secret for me to stay in top form, energized, and happy (and I am happy — bouncy even…which drives hubs nuts [he's a grump]) is to always vent off my momentary grumbles. I save the good stuff for me. You guys can read the snarls, snickers, and snides.
I tend to run around barefoot. Whether I’m working in the garden, picking up around the house or office, or working — especially working — my feet are FREE! Now, outside, this addiction to bare toes sometimes winds up netting me a thorn or two, but I do it anyway except when shoveling in the garden or working on the barn. At the office, I sit cross-legged in the chair, and shoes and sitting like a toad on a mushroom just doesn’t work. Of course, invariably, someone walks in and insists on a face-to-face. So here I am, dressed in “comfort” clothes — nice comfort clothes so I can do lunch with a client at the high end of the dining spectrum — and in walks Mr. and Mrs. Suit, usually suburban, totally and completely at ease in antiseptic environments, and they want to meet ME.
Quick toes reach desperately to dig out my slouch-arounds tumbled way back under the desk. Slide them on as they walk through the door, barely getting them locked on my feet as I rise to meet and greet. Even then, though, I see the look cross their faces — she’s in casuals. Uh, yeah. I’m all for efficient, and comfort makes efficient better. Really.
I sit on the steps outside watching morning. Big thunder heads — their tails — make sunrise into glory light, while birds sing, a coon walks by, and Spitty Kitty races for the house, hoping she’ll convince me to feed her an early breakfast.
I get up early. Usually around 3:30, 4:00 AM. I love morning. Mom said I was always a “morning child,” tough on a mom who still likes to stay up all night, then sleep till noon. I used to drive her nuts, creeping down the stairs at daybreak’s faintest glimmer. Hubs is like that too. He groans when, waking, I bounce up, throwing the covers, treading nimbly off the bed to dash for coffee and fresh air — even fresher than that coming in through wide open windows all around the house. Gawd, I love the morning!
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