Category: Just Shelley

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Just Shelley

Crossed Emails

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I’ve had three crossed email incidents in the last two days. In case you’re wondering, crossed email is when you send an email and the person you’re sending it to sends you an incoming email at the exact same time. Unless you’re in a furious exchange of emails, this is pretty rare.

You know what crossed emails mean, don’t ya? Every time you exchange simultaneous emails with another person, an evil email spammer goes to hell.

Really! I’m not making this up! I received the instructions when I answered the following email:

Moved offline because original was taking up too much room.

Categories
Just Shelley

Criminally Cute

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

When BurningBird takes a walk on cute side, she doesn’t screw around.

Is there some form of criminal offense to put something this absolutely terminally cute on the internet?

I thought my hamster in the pink dress was cute earlier, but this…don’t view if cute makes your toes curl.

(Actually, I thought some of it bordered on the scary myself.)

Categories
Just Shelley Writing

Sleepless Night

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

The Bay’s remarkably clear tonight. The lights on the other side sparkle like wadded up gum tinfoil on the ground.

I was thinking tonight that writers are either abysmally insecure or abominably arrogant —we don’t fall in-between. And I think the arrogant ones among us are nothing more than insecure writers that got so tired of being insecure that they got mad and then remained in that state.

Go to a bookstore and stand between any two bookshelves. If you close your ears and open your mind, you’ll be deafened by the sound of a thousand authors whispering their insecurities into the night. What will people say? Will they like it? Why did that critic hate it so much? Why did that jackass give me only one star at Amazon? What if no one reads it?

Chances are if you’re reading this, you’re a weblogger. If so, then you know what I’m saying. Close your eyes now, and in your mind you’ll hear a thousand webloggers whispering their insecurities into the threaded void of the Internet. Will they like it? Will I get any hits? Will I get flamed? What’s my Blogdex index? Why is no one linking to me?

Categories
Just Shelley Writing

Sleepless Night

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

The Bay’s remarkably clear tonight. The lights on the other side sparkle like wadded up gum tinfoil on the ground.

I was thinking tonight that writers are either abysmally insecure or abominably arrogant —we don’t fall in-between. And I think the arrogant ones among us are nothing more than insecure writers that got so tired of being insecure that they got mad and then remained in that state.

Go to a bookstore and stand between any two bookshelves. If you close your ears and open your mind, you’ll be deafened by the sound of a thousand authors whispering their insecurities into the night. What will people say? Will they like it? Why did that critic hate it so much? Why did that jackass give me only one star at Amazon? What if no one reads it?

Chances are if you’re reading this, you’re a weblogger. If so, then you know what I’m saying. Close your eyes now, and in your mind you’ll hear a thousand webloggers whispering their insecurities into the threaded void of the Internet. Will they like it? Will I get any hits? Will I get flamed? What’s my Blogdex index? Why is no one linking to me?

Categories
Writing

I love to write

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I love to write. Writing to me is a shield when I’m afraid and a weapon when I’m angry. It is friend and lover and thief of time. It exposes me and hides me. It is there in the morning, and there in the evening. Of all the chaos of my life, writing is my one constant.

When I’m hurt or I’m afraid of hurting, I write and with my writing heal or am healed. One in the same.