As of today I have been a blogger for one year. As with most milestones, the anticipation produced more excitement than the actual day. When I woke up this morning I didn't feel more accomplished or more authorly (I know, not a word). I am more tired and more physically beat up since my job is kicking my arse. I do feel as though I have faced a challenge and seen myself more clearly because of it. I have found a braver voice than I thought I could ever possess. That can only lead to good things down the road. Fortune favors the brave, right? Depending of course on whose dice you roll... but I digress.
The things that I have learned through this experiment are harder to articulate than I thought they would be due to their internal nature. The discipline is the most important part since I used to write when "the spirit" moved me. I still have to conquer the silly notion that I can ponder a subject until the due date and crank out something brilliant to get that A+. I'm not in high school anymore and my aging brain pan reminds me of that fact constantly.
The blog, as it turns out, was a gateway into a bigger cyber world which is still so new to me that I don't have any cohesive thoughts on the subject beyond the fact that I am not as invisible as I thought I was. How this will all work together is quite beyond me.
So in the end, I have nothing wittier and daring to say beyond this
Here we go... into the void.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
still going
Spiner saga is still going. On the run, blaming Data for the daring do... this is still entertaining. The audience is still captivated and we are growing a community of Spiner watchers. If I were not participating in this as it happens I would not believe it possible.
Oh technology, what have you wrought for good or evil and... can I have some more?
Oh technology, what have you wrought for good or evil and... can I have some more?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
boldly going somewhere
Since the middle of March I've been following Brent Spiner on Twitter. Trekkies know him as Lieutenant Commander Data, a Soong type android serving aboard the Enterprise. At first I was following because I was already following Wil Wheaton. They had a dialog between them that all of us Hollywood outsiders could eavesdrop on. They totally sounded normal and geeky in a famous people way. Spiner had just finished "Man from LaMancha" & auctioning his 500th tweet. Then things got strange.
Wondering how to jump start/restart/reboot his career he put himself into an imaginary world only two steps into the pale beyond the reality that we know. Spiner pulled a Serling and went somewhere dark and desperate that could have been real. After only a few posts I was hooked. I've been obsessively signing into Twitter to see where we were going with him. In turns humorous, poignant and puzzling, Spiner's saga was always captivating with its minimalism. Twitter only allows post of 140 characters at a time. Thus an author must be evocative, making the most of this stringent limit.
Spiner gives us dialog, direction and emotion in each post. For a while it seemed as though he were living the life any actor uncertain of his future and frustrated with his agent would live. Events of his life seemed to unfold with the steady pacing each of us see in our lives, a convincing reality where nothing but everything could happen. After the initial joke about kick starting his career with an unnecessary rehab stint and ping pong with James Woods, days ticked away with the kind of everyman updates we had become accustomed to with Wheaton.
But if you know anything about his life you would have to wonder why there were no more posts about events with his son. And why didn't he mention the home cooked dinner Gates McFadden made for the next Generation family as reported by LeVar Burton? The plot isn't interrupted with his Denver convention experience of last week. If there was ever a doubt that he was writing fiction on Twitter these omissions remove all doubt.
Because his tweets were infrequent, irregular and organic his fiction had the feeling of reality. This might account for the confusion among his followers that manifested in a flurry of replies to Spiner's twitterstream on Sunday. The plot twisted. I started thinking.
What makes this so compelling? What does this experimental medium mean for fiction? And the answer is surprising: the audience. Spiner's readership can do with Twitter something that no audience has been able to do before. That is that they can make the author aware of their thoughts as the story is being written. This medium offers opportunity for critique, commentary and community in realtime. In the past an author had to wait for a story to be published to find out how it is recieved through reviews and placement on the New York Times Bestseller List or the dread booksigning. In the past a book club or the book signing was the only way that the audience connected with each other. This is no longer true.
The audience can critque the work in progress, within seconds of the words being printed. And they do, with color and intensity. For the first time in history the author can "hear" the audience's commentary. The audience can tell the scary movie character not to open the door; or in Spiner's case we were yelling at him to get out while the getting was good. I believe I encouraged him to run for his life. I only hope I neglected to add that the Tasmanian Devil was on the lose. Of course just because the author/actor can hear us doesn't mean they listen any better than the canned actors. But the comments are varied and do go off on tangents. The author got to see what was going through the audiences' mind. Fortunately, our author is used to dealing with strange new worlds and packs a phaser... just in case. The author can also see how and why the audience connects. In this case it is obviously the Star Trek stuff. As this is the first time anyone has written a novel/treatment/script using Twitter (that I know off) it is hard to say exactly how this will all play out.
As for what it means for fiction, I can't say. I fear what it says for performance art is the same thing that VHS movies said to the cinema: everyday is casual Friday. I hope that people going to see live performances of any kind remember that they aren't supposed to interact with the cast on stage and that the place to make friends is not in their seats while they are watching but in the cafe afterwards.
In general this has been a fun ride. As of this post it is not over. There is the conclusion yet. Will he? Won't he? I don't know. All I know is that Earl Stanley Gardner would have thrown the book at the audience instead of the defendents on the witness stand.
Wondering how to jump start/restart/reboot his career he put himself into an imaginary world only two steps into the pale beyond the reality that we know. Spiner pulled a Serling and went somewhere dark and desperate that could have been real. After only a few posts I was hooked. I've been obsessively signing into Twitter to see where we were going with him. In turns humorous, poignant and puzzling, Spiner's saga was always captivating with its minimalism. Twitter only allows post of 140 characters at a time. Thus an author must be evocative, making the most of this stringent limit.
Spiner gives us dialog, direction and emotion in each post. For a while it seemed as though he were living the life any actor uncertain of his future and frustrated with his agent would live. Events of his life seemed to unfold with the steady pacing each of us see in our lives, a convincing reality where nothing but everything could happen. After the initial joke about kick starting his career with an unnecessary rehab stint and ping pong with James Woods, days ticked away with the kind of everyman updates we had become accustomed to with Wheaton.
But if you know anything about his life you would have to wonder why there were no more posts about events with his son. And why didn't he mention the home cooked dinner Gates McFadden made for the next Generation family as reported by LeVar Burton? The plot isn't interrupted with his Denver convention experience of last week. If there was ever a doubt that he was writing fiction on Twitter these omissions remove all doubt.
Because his tweets were infrequent, irregular and organic his fiction had the feeling of reality. This might account for the confusion among his followers that manifested in a flurry of replies to Spiner's twitterstream on Sunday. The plot twisted. I started thinking.
What makes this so compelling? What does this experimental medium mean for fiction? And the answer is surprising: the audience. Spiner's readership can do with Twitter something that no audience has been able to do before. That is that they can make the author aware of their thoughts as the story is being written. This medium offers opportunity for critique, commentary and community in realtime. In the past an author had to wait for a story to be published to find out how it is recieved through reviews and placement on the New York Times Bestseller List or the dread booksigning. In the past a book club or the book signing was the only way that the audience connected with each other. This is no longer true.
The audience can critque the work in progress, within seconds of the words being printed. And they do, with color and intensity. For the first time in history the author can "hear" the audience's commentary. The audience can tell the scary movie character not to open the door; or in Spiner's case we were yelling at him to get out while the getting was good. I believe I encouraged him to run for his life. I only hope I neglected to add that the Tasmanian Devil was on the lose. Of course just because the author/actor can hear us doesn't mean they listen any better than the canned actors. But the comments are varied and do go off on tangents. The author got to see what was going through the audiences' mind. Fortunately, our author is used to dealing with strange new worlds and packs a phaser... just in case. The author can also see how and why the audience connects. In this case it is obviously the Star Trek stuff. As this is the first time anyone has written a novel/treatment/script using Twitter (that I know off) it is hard to say exactly how this will all play out.
As for what it means for fiction, I can't say. I fear what it says for performance art is the same thing that VHS movies said to the cinema: everyday is casual Friday. I hope that people going to see live performances of any kind remember that they aren't supposed to interact with the cast on stage and that the place to make friends is not in their seats while they are watching but in the cafe afterwards.
In general this has been a fun ride. As of this post it is not over. There is the conclusion yet. Will he? Won't he? I don't know. All I know is that Earl Stanley Gardner would have thrown the book at the audience instead of the defendents on the witness stand.
left behind
I have had this crazy idea since I was 14; changing my name. It started with wanting to add an e at the end of my name. Mom was insensed that I would do so since that was my aunts name. That was one reason I wanted to do it. And why would she have a problem with honoring her sister? found out later but that is for another post. By the end of highschool my reasons expanded.
My first name is Sherry. Great name since, as I said before, it means "beloved". However not so great when Frankie Valli has immortalized it in a higpitched pleaing song. Then, horror of horrors Steve Perry pops out another little ditty. The superficiality of people with poor judgement in humor aside, I had other reasons. By the time I was ten I had come to dread hearing my name. Full or just the first name it didn't matter. My name had become a curse in our house. And I couldn't stand it. But what would have been a better name?
I had always wanted to be a boy. I thought it would have made dad happier. And I liked Jo from Little Women. And Joe was my best friend's name. But Joe wasn't right for me. And the more names I looked at the less I could find one that seemed like enough to me to change it. In the back of my head I still have this furtive plan to change my name as soon as I can find the money. Until recently I didn't know what to change it to. And I didn't know if I could accept my new name. After all this time I am still Sherry. So how do we identify ourselves?
I wouldn't be thinking about it if I had been on something called yoville yesterday. A friend invited me to play on facebook. You build an avatar and live a virtual life in YoVille. I built my avatar to look as much like me as the options would allow. So now I look like Madonna. I chose a name. It is the nickname my sister gave me when we lived in Marquette. How comfortable am I walking around town with a name that isn't mine? I can interact with any avatar I see so the name has to feel okay. And then there is this thing called Twitter.
It seems, as with all sorts of sites you build for interaction, we build and rebuild our identities all the time. My blog, my email, my facebook and twitter all have different identities, as do the dating sites I am on. The more I am out there, avoiding my brother and trying to become traceless in his world so that I can be the real me in mine, the easier it is to recognize another me. I feel more comfortable in other skins.
But how can that be? How can we have so many identities to be comfortable in? Jews have a habit of changing names with life issues. Government registrations & social security issues make it a sticky wicket to navigate. But maybe this tradition is there because they know something that the rest of us don't know. Maybe, as with Avram and Sarai, we were meant to wear a new name to match the new hat. I felt stupid chosing glyphgeek as my twitter handle because it wasn't me. But why would I chose that as an identity if it wasn't me? So it must be me. And indeed it is. What allows me to be this person?
It is a reflection of a part of me that I didn't share with anyone. Glyph reflects my interest in Stargate, mayan and egyptian heiroglyphs [see what I did there] and geek is obviously the best choice as a descriptor because that is what I am. And I have noticed over the course of the last few weeks that I am so comfortable with my twitter name that I have to stop myself from saying @glyphgeek when introducing myself. This techno world has opened my up to myself because there is no judgement.
Well there is. But this is the most democratic social form because it truly underscores the axiom if you don't like it turn it off. People will start to follow me on twitter for what ever reason. If they become bored with me or angry about what I say they can leave my follow list and never hear from me again. And it happens. It has happened a lot. And I have felt bad. But then more people join my feeds to take their place. They stick around. And those that stick around are growing a community of kindred spirits, developing friendships.
If you made a Venn diagram of the people I follow and who follow me and we follow each other, we find in the overlapping areas of interest a list of connecting points. Those points are descriptions of parts of my personality, parts of who they are. And in that distillation I find that my truest identity is glyphgeek. It is the skin I feel most comfortable in. It is a name completely and uniquely my own. And my tweeps are now calling me "glyph".
I am glad that I can finally settle into myself. I wish other people could do that with as much certainty as I have found for myself. And I wish that I didn't have to do it at the expense of people who were supposed to be my rock and foundation. But they chose to judge, control and attempt to destroy. I have no choice but to leave them behind.
My first name is Sherry. Great name since, as I said before, it means "beloved". However not so great when Frankie Valli has immortalized it in a higpitched pleaing song. Then, horror of horrors Steve Perry pops out another little ditty. The superficiality of people with poor judgement in humor aside, I had other reasons. By the time I was ten I had come to dread hearing my name. Full or just the first name it didn't matter. My name had become a curse in our house. And I couldn't stand it. But what would have been a better name?
I had always wanted to be a boy. I thought it would have made dad happier. And I liked Jo from Little Women. And Joe was my best friend's name. But Joe wasn't right for me. And the more names I looked at the less I could find one that seemed like enough to me to change it. In the back of my head I still have this furtive plan to change my name as soon as I can find the money. Until recently I didn't know what to change it to. And I didn't know if I could accept my new name. After all this time I am still Sherry. So how do we identify ourselves?
I wouldn't be thinking about it if I had been on something called yoville yesterday. A friend invited me to play on facebook. You build an avatar and live a virtual life in YoVille. I built my avatar to look as much like me as the options would allow. So now I look like Madonna. I chose a name. It is the nickname my sister gave me when we lived in Marquette. How comfortable am I walking around town with a name that isn't mine? I can interact with any avatar I see so the name has to feel okay. And then there is this thing called Twitter.
It seems, as with all sorts of sites you build for interaction, we build and rebuild our identities all the time. My blog, my email, my facebook and twitter all have different identities, as do the dating sites I am on. The more I am out there, avoiding my brother and trying to become traceless in his world so that I can be the real me in mine, the easier it is to recognize another me. I feel more comfortable in other skins.
But how can that be? How can we have so many identities to be comfortable in? Jews have a habit of changing names with life issues. Government registrations & social security issues make it a sticky wicket to navigate. But maybe this tradition is there because they know something that the rest of us don't know. Maybe, as with Avram and Sarai, we were meant to wear a new name to match the new hat. I felt stupid chosing glyphgeek as my twitter handle because it wasn't me. But why would I chose that as an identity if it wasn't me? So it must be me. And indeed it is. What allows me to be this person?
It is a reflection of a part of me that I didn't share with anyone. Glyph reflects my interest in Stargate, mayan and egyptian heiroglyphs [see what I did there] and geek is obviously the best choice as a descriptor because that is what I am. And I have noticed over the course of the last few weeks that I am so comfortable with my twitter name that I have to stop myself from saying @glyphgeek when introducing myself. This techno world has opened my up to myself because there is no judgement.
Well there is. But this is the most democratic social form because it truly underscores the axiom if you don't like it turn it off. People will start to follow me on twitter for what ever reason. If they become bored with me or angry about what I say they can leave my follow list and never hear from me again. And it happens. It has happened a lot. And I have felt bad. But then more people join my feeds to take their place. They stick around. And those that stick around are growing a community of kindred spirits, developing friendships.
If you made a Venn diagram of the people I follow and who follow me and we follow each other, we find in the overlapping areas of interest a list of connecting points. Those points are descriptions of parts of my personality, parts of who they are. And in that distillation I find that my truest identity is glyphgeek. It is the skin I feel most comfortable in. It is a name completely and uniquely my own. And my tweeps are now calling me "glyph".
I am glad that I can finally settle into myself. I wish other people could do that with as much certainty as I have found for myself. And I wish that I didn't have to do it at the expense of people who were supposed to be my rock and foundation. But they chose to judge, control and attempt to destroy. I have no choice but to leave them behind.
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