When you’re fed up with the world, and with social media, but it’s still your “playground,” you have to do something. My “something” this month is #Inktober2018 (it is, to art, what NaNoWriMo is to writing). I don’t expect to rise, fully, to the 30 day challenge of #Inktober, nor do I expect too complete a NaNoWriMo […]
Books expose us to ideas that are not our own, not our friends’, not our neighbors’, not our teachers’ or our ministers’. We are free to see books as sympathetic friends or challenging adversaries. But let’s make sure we’re free to read them, and to make those choices for ourselves.
It’s important enough to public health that most of us can get one for free. It may inconvenience you, it may hurt a little, and it may even provoke a strong immune response that makes you feel like crap for a day. But it protects you, your loved ones, and your community from a deadly disease.
You could call this post “mental compost,” wherein I throw the mental scraps about reusing content, self-plagiarism, and even propaganda into one post, shake it up, and hope it will fertilize new ideas.
The same folks who decry “political correctness” and clamor for the right to be rude and aggressively offensive are the same ones who whine whenever someone finds them…offensive.
She had a primrose path, a little wooded section, and far to the back, a compost heap that she turned regularly with a pitchfork. It smelled of earth and death and life, and it made rich soil for her wildflowers. She taught us not to waste things, but we were kids and we forgot.
Now and then, it’s a good idea to step back from the blog and take an objective look at its design and usability. Better yet, ask a few friends to do it!
Here’s a checklist of things to look at when reviewing your blog, or a friend’s.
We needn’t contort every word, twisting bad to mean good, and sick to mean amazing. This is just obfuscation and lunacy.
I thought, not for the first time today, that I need a little sand and sun. It’s been too long since I went parasailing, upside down, while watching dolphins play ping-pong with a shark. Or since I floated, laughing, unable to sink, in the warm salty water near Miami, smooth as glass and clear enough to see my toes squishing in the sand. And as I re-read the question, I thought, How can I not write a descriptive paragraph about the beach? But what came out, like a tiny hermit crab from a tiny painted shell, wanted to be poetry, not paragraphs.
I am resisting the urge to “metablog” as my friend Dave M once put it. Blogging about blogging. Writing about writing (or writers). Neither of those things are very interesting to anyone but bloggers and writers. It’s like all the backstage action at a theater: fun for the theater geeks, but not so much for the audience.
Gerald, the lawn gnome, had grown tired of being “cute.” He had looked it up, one night, in a dictionary Elizabeth had carelessly left lying on the front stoop. It did not mean handsome, or manly, or noble. No, “cute” was something whimsical and trivial and Gerald had been in a foul mood ever since he’d learned the […]
What was that hackneyed advice someone always trotted out, eager to prove they knew nothing at all about the process of writing? Ahh, yes: “Write what you know.”