13 October 2020

Can You Hear Me Now?


Let me say upfront, I’m not really a technophobe. I like technology. I like toys, bells, and whistles. I just don’t have very many. My car is 16 years old. It runs, which is all that matters but lately, I find myself longing for built-in GPS, Bluetooth, and a backup camera. It may have to do with getting older, or general frustration at not having the fun stuff like everyone else, or a bit of both. 

I don’t have the latest iPhone, but I have an older one. It was a change from the Android I was used to, but I’ve come to enjoy it, even though I don’t use near enough of the features available to me. I regard it as a tool, not a close friend. I use it to text, get GPS directions, and read my email, with occasional forays into the Internet to check in on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, mostly for Gyroscope Review. I’m proud of myself for once going on Amazon and actually buying something through the app. Progress! Phone calls? Only when I have to.

My kids live on their phones and do all social things, shopping, and banking on it. I just did the phone pic check deposit for the first time last week. I loved not driving to the bank after I got over my suspicion that the hefty check would disappear into the mist. So my phone is a useful tool, which makes me happy. I’m just not ready to live my life on it. Okay, maybe I’m 22% technophobe. 

Hear Me, Hear Me.

The thing I hate about the phone is its demands. They’ve wormed their way into my subconscious. When I’m out in public and I hear a certain ringtone or notification, I automatically check my phone, only to find out it’s someone else’s phone doing the demanding. I’ve been trained like Pavlov’s dog. As much as I like technology, I don’t want it to be my master. I assigned special ringtones to friends, relatives, and the doctor’s office so I know who’s calling in advance. I have a ringtone for ‘unknown caller’ so I can ignore it. The phone really hasn’t trained me, I’ve done it to myself. That’s the insidious nature of technology. It makes itself appear indispensable. 

It’s not. Not for me. Most texts don’t need an instant answer even though it feels like it. Hardly anyone calls, except for the doctor’s office and lawn care guy. We aren’t really traveling because—Pandemic—so GPS isn’t needed. Banking? I like that, that works for me. Shopping? Eh, the screen’s too small to see pics clearly, and I hate scrolling indefinitely to read reviews. The best thing about my pocket computer is the camera, and the only reason I’m thinking of upgrading my iPhone. It costs about the same as getting a new camera, plus I can deposit my checks (am I the only person who still gets checks?) and Instagram pictures of my latest sourdough loaf. Maybe, if I get ambitious, I’ll even use my phone to shop for a new car, one that can get Sirius radio so I can come in to this decade. 

Where do you stand with technology? Like, dislike, or kill for a Facebook update?

My previous essay on phones when I first acquired an iPhone is HERE.

More Observational essays HERE.

Essays on Writing HERE.

Essays on Reading HERE.

17 May 2020

The Renaissance Woman Today

I can't be good at everything

Imagine my surprise when I came to this realization. Society says we should strive for perfection in all things. To boldly go where no writer/artist/knitter/printer has gone before. To be different, unique. Special. 

Fine and dandy, but I call bullshit. 

Extroverts and Type A personalities run the world. They push. And push. More, better, faster. I bought in to it. When you already operate from a brain that is attention deficient, what are a few more things to rattle around up there? A busload of screaming kids, all clamoring for attention. You get used to the noise and disarray. It took a good long while before I realized I didn't want to get used to the racket, especially racket of my own making. 

In my arrogance, I thought I could juggle all the balls and be equally good at everything. It took a few clues landing on my head with a thunk to realize I'm not. I'm not good at everything. And I don't need to be. It's not a race against the world to reach the top. It's not a death march up Everest. 

With realization came planning.

What could I let go of? All the juggling balls don't have equal weight. What was important to me? Important enough to want to hang on to that, and not something else. Creating was important, but what did that look like? I had way too many hobbies, I needed to let go of some. I did, but I still haven't let go of the material things surrounding the hobby. One step at a time. Into storage with them.

Writing stayed. It had to. It's part of me. Novels, poems, and essays. Trying to write short stories and flash fiction went by the wayside, they are not my strong points. I'm well rounded enough without them, although it was hard to tell myself that. Write all the things! That's what I used to believe.

Printmaking stayed. I have a deep-seated love of the smell of ink and the creation of an image on paper rolled through a press or rubbed by hand. I kept watercolors and drawing pads to create ideas for prints, and to see if an image would be better suited to another medium than printmaking. It's hard to let go of some types of art. I'm never going to be the kind of watercolor painter I wanted to be, acceptance of that made my painting better as I found my own methods.

Knitting and weaving. There's something about the tactile nature of knitting and weaving that appeals to me. The creation of something practical, useable. The design of a pair of colorwork mittens, a hat, or table runners is a meditative experience. Seeing the design come to life is gratifying. Knitting and weaving stay. They get pushed to the side sometimes, but they stay in my repertoire. 

Everything else that stays is for a practical reason. I no longer design websites, except my own. Sewing is for masks and quilts, but it's for fun when I feel so moved. Photography has mostly gone, except for practical stuff. I majored in it, I shouldn't let it go, but the truth is I loved working with a Rolleiflex camera and its square format, and a 4x5 camera with its huge negatives I developed myself. Now that the world is digital, it's really hard to work with old-style negatives and development. It was another meditative experience swept away by point and click. I still have the old cameras, just in case. 

I really wanted to be a Renaissance woman. I don't think it's possible anymore. That's okay, the last thing someone needs is to pressure themselves into scattered interests with no time to improve them all. I can't be perfect at everything, but I can do some things to my own satisfaction. Most days, that's enough.

23 February 2020

Why I Don't Write Political Poetry

Sometimes I think too much. That is my main excuse for not writing political poetry. I'm an after thinker. I'm non-confrontational. By the time I've absorbed the daily news cycle and thought about its background and implications, weeks have passed. 

I'm not timely.  

In today's fast-moving poetic world some people can write a poem on the current news by the end of the day. I envy that. Of course, some are well versed in politics and can fire out opinions with a brain full of background on the issue. As a sporadic reader of news, I can't make the leap between today's story and one that came out two weeks ago. It all seems the same to me. Dumpster fires, train wrecks, and slow-motion car crashes abound, cleverly disguised as news.
The current hype of the day is easily missed when you don't watch television or get the daily paper. 

I scan headlines, maybe read the first paragraph. I get the gist that way if the writer is any good at all. How do you turn gist into a poem? Maybe a mashup of gists in one rage-fueled epic?
Continual outrage is tiring. Reading the news makes me outraged. Politics as usual, makes me outraged. I can't write on a diet of calculated fury. Some poets can channel their wrath into biting poems addressing the issue of the day. 

I don't think I received that poetry gene. 

Maybe it's because poetry is my safe space to explore more leisurely issues. To wax philosophical about things of importance to me. To hide in my blanket fort. 

With the way things are going today, I want to come out of my shell and sling some of the smoldering indignation into a poem. But I'm not sure how. Snarling and gnashed teeth poetry is not my favorite and I can't see writing it. I leave that to those who are good at it, and there are some very good poets out there demanding we look at the issues. With the way things are going today, I need to express my discomfort and fears. Poetry is the vehicle for that. 

What am I afraid of? Spilling my guts in a blood-soaked mess on the page. But maybe, just maybe, I need to confront my writing (writhing) nest of guts. Scribble it out. There is no poetry police. I don't have to show my work to anyone if I don't want to. 

So I have a notebook just for gut spilling. Politics. Things that piss me off to the point of apoplexy. Sentences with more four-letter words than a sentence can carry. And you know what? It's a good feeling to put the pen to paper and spew. Sometimes in magic marker. I highly recommend it. 

You probably won't see many, if any political poems from me. Don't think I don't care. I care too much. My notebook knows all about it. For those of you that tackle political poetry, kudos. I'll be reading. 

Do you write political poetry? How do you handle the red hot topics? If you don't write it, do you want to? Should we be tacking it to telephone poles on hot pink paper?

23 January 2020


(Thank you, 60's Batman, for the onomatopoeia.)

Why does the answer to everything seem to be violence?

Books, movies, real life. Blood, gore, guns. Maybe I'm too much a wuss for this. I don't believe every problem needs to be solved by punching, shooting, blowing up, or some form of superhero power liberally applied.

It's inescapable. In my first fantasy novel, I gave one of the heroes a sword. He refused to use it again after seeing the aftermath of his warmongering. He gave it away. In my new WIP, one of the protagonists refuses to carry a gun, although almost everyone in his world does. He knows his refusal will not change a damn thing but it aligns with his values.  Which probably align with mine, since every character, at its core, is me or evil me or pissed off me or head in the sand me.

The Folly of Youth


When I was younger and in the Army as an engineer, I took great glee in blowing up things like bridges, tossing hand grenades with abandon, and shooting my rifle at targets, never connecting that if I went to war, I would be required to apply these methods to people.

Then I learned to use words. Words are molasses poured over the violence urge, or gasoline tossed on the pyre. Used judiciously they support and defend. Used viciously, they flay. I do believe they have power over the sword if only to blunt the edge. Unfortunately, people are moving away from the written word, the spoken word, the lovingly crafted word toward a society of shouty words and half-baked memes standing in for a thoughtful conversation.

That's a shame.

All you poets and writers keep on doing what you do. Society needs you now, more than ever. Fight the good fight. Maybe it's your words that will change the world for the better, or at least plant a seed.

27 December 2019

The Kindle Dilemma

My bookshelves are crowded. Really crowded. They have been for years so when Kindle became a thing, I got one. It didn't stop me from buying books. I just became more judicious about my paper choices. Most non-fiction is a hardcopy purchase. Almost all fiction is a Kindle purchase, unless I know I'm going to reread it over and over, like LOTR and Dune. Poetry is hardcopy because poetry often doesn't transfer well to Kindle. When I formatted Piccola Poesie for Kindle, I spent an inordinate amount of time making sure the poems looked right in the electronic version.

Kindle has become my bookshelf in more ways than one. Now I have so many books on it I can't find things if I want to reread them. It doesn't happen often. Usually, I read then delete off the Kindle to save space. It stays on my Amazon account if I need to download it again. By the last check, I have over 900 books available in my account for my Kindle. Gulp. Then I went and signed up for Kindle Unlimited so I have even more books to choose from. I may have a problem. 

Can You See Me Now?

I know people practically get in fistfights over paper vs. electronic. I like both. I read a lot more on the Kindle than I do paper. It's hell to get old and not be able to read the tiny print in a paperback very easily. My appearances at used book stores have dwindled because of that. On the electronic reader, I can up the type for my crappy old eyes. 

Another advantage is when I put the Kindle app on my iPad and phone I can have my book available almost anytime, anywhere. It helps me read a lot. 2-4 books a week (fiction). It's not as many as it sounds, I also read really fast and always have. I read at dinner. Read at lunch. I read in downtime waiting for appointments. Books are easier to do that with than knitting, although I have been known to carry an in-progress sock around to kill time when I have to think about MY writing. 

I recently swiped my way back through the Kindle carousel. And swiped, and swiped. There are a lot of partially read books on there. 37%, 52%, some even abandoned at the 89% mark. I buy books and I download a lot of free books. I quit worrying about it and if the book doesn't live up to my expectations of a good story, I abandon it. Even at 89%. If it's lost my interest, it's lost my interest. 

My biggest pet peeve is the character, told not to do something, immediately does what she was told not to do. Surely there is a better way to move your plot forward? Willful stupidity makes me toss the book. Used to be when I bought a physical book I felt obligated to see it through to the end. That feeling is going away. 


Time is short. Not just because of the workday but because life itself is careening to a close. (Damn birthdays for making me feel that.) So much to read and enjoy. The mountain of books getting published every year is daunting. But I'm doing my best to make a dent in the To Be Read pile. If it topples over and buries me (physically or electronically) I'll die happy.

How do you tackle your reading material? Physical, electronic, cuneiform?