Category: Burningbird

Categories
Just Shelley

Summer break

In addition to our political views, Mark Morford from the Chronicle and I have something else in common this morning: we’re both suffering from injured wrists. More than that, we’re both taking a break from our writing: Morford because of his wrist; me because damn, but I’m tired.

My writing has been uninspired, my camera busted, and even my code sits there going, “Can you give me one good reason why I should run?” Uppity code is a sure sign that you’re overdue for time away from the keyboard.

I have some writing to do for American Street and then I’m going to see what kind of mischief I can get into that doesn’t involve the computer.

Be good. Be well. Kick butt.

Categories
Burningbird Weblogging

Source updates

I am regenerating the documentation of the PHP for my site and should have replacement pages up tonight. The pages will include my Talkback feature and comment editing. They won’t include the counter post technology, which I’ve removed.

I want to congratulate Jay Allan for winning the Six Apart contest. He deserves recognition for his hard work and I’m glad to see he got it.

This reminded me, though, that those who contribute plugins for other products, such as WordPress, also deserve recognition for the hard work they do. So I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to those who have provided documentation, plug-ins, or even inspiration for my own tweaks, including the WordPress development and documentation team, Chris Davis, Mark from Weblog Tools Collection, Craig, and Carthik.

I gather that August 1st is WP Patch Day where plugin authors pick a bug to fix in the core. Though I’m working on converting the Redland Unix libraries to Windows in order to create a PHP extension (and having a bitch of a time with it–nothing to do with the Redland code; it’s my own rusty Visual Studio/C skills), I’m going to see if there’s a bug left to claim. And then that will be it for me.

Categories
Just Shelley

From eyes, the deleted

Originally deleted from an earlier post: If only we could see each other’s eyes

A couple of days ago while traveling to my favorite walking path, I came to an intersection full of cops and firetrucks. I knew there was an accident, but didn’t know how bad until I moved around the police car blocking my lane and ended up facing on to the actual accident scene. A few yards in front of me was a small car, not unlike my own, somehow flipped on to its roof. Several rescue people surrounded it, helping whoever was inside. The firemen blocked my view of the interior of the car and the accident victims–all except for an arm, lying limp on the road.

I slowed down, at first because I was startled, but then I continued driving slowly past the spot, eyes fixated on the rescurers and that arm. From the periphery of my vision, I noticed a group of people gathered to the side, all as fixated as I was. Luckily the cop directing traffic yelled at me to “Go! Go!”, snapping me out of my revery.

Why we’re fascinated by accident scenes, or photos of hostages being decapitated, or the more gruesome reality TV, is a complex phenomena that is sometimes dismissed too lightly as ghoulish behavior. Staring at a accident or other scene of violence is actually a fairly typical behavior that crosses all cultural boundaries; in fact, not staring usually requires some strength of will. Many times people aren’t even aware that they’re staring, fascinated, at a bloody scene until they’re abruptly reminded, like I was by the cop.

On September 11th, 2001, we were subjected to one of the most significant graphic scenes of all time, and the world sat fixated for hours–days– staring at every available bit of footage available. That is until in an oddly collective moment we rejected even one more moment of looking at smashing planes and collapsing towers.

I see the same sort of fascination in play whenever there’s a violent altercation between people. Groups form around a fight in a bar, and audiences tune in to watch two people scream at each other in a talk show. Two candidates being civil to each other at a debate won’t rate a line in the newspapers; but have those same two candidates spend the entire timing yelling at each other, and it’s frontpage news.

Are political weblogs popular because they bring new perspective? Or are they popular because the topics covered can generate heated discussions in the comments, which the readership laps up like dogs drinking water on a hot day. Billmon from Whiskey Bar recently shut down comments because he couldn’t afford the time to police them–a commendable act. I am curious, though, if his readership will decrease because of it. Will he lose the readers who need the fights?

It is understandable, though not necessarily noble, to stare at accident scenes or read avidly through comments at people swinging verbally at each other. It’s true that if we were all above that sort of thing, we would reach a higher plane of existence. But I like this plane. It has lightning bugs and fat robins, and every once in a while angry writing, edged like a knife and as beautiful as a stormy sky.

However, there’s a world of difference between being a passive viewer to a violent event–or even a participant– and being one who actively encourages such events because they need the excitement or the anger.

I remember when I was in my early 20’s and living in Seattle, an event that took place one night when I and my roommate were waiting at a bus stop in the University District. The stop was in the business section and the time was fairly late, so there weren’t a lot of people about. We had been shopping and both of us had bags of stuff.

Two people were walking toward us and I glanced casually at them, looked away, and then snapped my head back to look again. The young woman was perfectly ordinary, but the man would startle a second look from a marble statue.

He was older, I would say in his 40’s. He had short hair, somewhat thin on top – blond or gray, I couldn’t tell in the streetlight. He was about 5′ 8″, and stocky, very strong looking. He wore khaki pants rolled up to under his knees, shitty tennis shoes with dark dress socks. He also wore a white T-Shirt with a khaki vest, and a white sweatband around his head. So far, nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except that he had hundreds of safety pins stuck everywhere on him. In his clothes, in the band tied around his head, through his lip, ears, eyebrows , in multiple chains around his neck– the man was a walking tailor’s assistant.

You don’t want to stare in the U District – it’s considered rude. But I was taken by surprise and I did stare for several seconds before I looked away. When the couple reached us, the young lady yelled at me, “Who the fuck are you staring at!”

I looked back at them. The woman seemed edgy, almost like she was on drugs. She was thin and jumpy, and moved about with abrupt, jerky movements. She was a pretty thing, elfin, with chin length curly auburn hair, and large dark eyes. Her tone was angry, but her eyes looked sad, hurt. Lonely.

That man, though. Well he was scary. He was looking at me, staring at me, with a half smile on his face and what seemed like lust in his eyes, but it wasn’t a healthy lust based on sex – it was lust for blood. He wanted a fight. He wanted that young woman and me to fight.

I told her that I wasn’t staring at them. I said I was just waiting for the bus, looking in their direction because that was the way the bus was coming. I used the same tone of voice I now use when I talk to the deer in the enchanted forest – low, calm, soothing. Non-threatening. And it seemed to work, she started to calm down.

That is, until the guy said something to her, something I couldn’t quite hear about how I was looking at the young woman because I thought she was funny looking or something to that effect, all the while never once taking his eyes off of me.

Whatever he said set triggered the young woman’s anger and she clenched her fists in front of her and moved closer to me, and then rocked back, and the moved forward again. I was much taller than her and she seemed afraid of me; but at the same time, in a contradiction in movement, she was also being very aggressive.

I continued to talk with her in the same soothing voice, trying to calm her down. My roommate also said something in her quiet, gentle way, and between the both of us, we seemed to calm her down, again.Her hands started to relax, to unclench. She seemed uncertain and started to move back.

Just as we thought we were in the clear, the man said something to her, again, quietly into her ear, never once taking his eyes off my face. This time when she reacted, she moved in, swiftly, and threw a roundhouse kick into my chest area.

The young woman seemed to have had some training because her kick was good form, but there was no strength behind it. All she did was ruffle the tops of the packages I was carrying, and the impact wasn’t much more than someone patting you hard on the chest.

But she did piss me off. It wasn’t so much that I have a temper, which I admit I do; it was more that after previous experience with abusive men, I had promised myself that if anyone ever touched me again in an aggressive or unwelcome manner, I was going to hurt them.

I threw my bags down on the ground and I stepped towards her, looming over her really, on the balls of my feet ready to move in, pick that girl up, and choke the fight out of her. Policemen’s hold and not letting go until she squeaked ‘uncle’. She pulled back, obviously scared, as the guy moved away from her to provide room for the fight.

I don’t know what stopped me. Several things, probably. It was the scared look in the girl’s face, and those damn sad eyes. My roommate also called my name, telling me to just walk away; that it wasn’t worth it. But I think it was that guy, and his blood lust–that look in his face. I just wasn’t going to fight that young woman for a sick fuck like him.

I grabbed my bags, and seeing a car coming down the street, I stepped off the curb and flagged the car to stop. When the driver pulled over, I asked the three guys inside if they would give us a lift. They said sure and I am my roommate got into the car and we took off. I didn’t once look back. I didn’t once look again at the girl, or the man.

But I remember those eyes. I’ll never forget that guy’s eyes and his lust for a fight. I feel them, from time to time, in the back of my mind, looking out at me when I’m reading other weblogs. If only I could see them more clearly, before I react rather than after.

Categories
Books Writing

If it’s so bad why do we love it

Michael Blowhard at 2Blowhards provides a detailed discussion about why you wouldn’t want to write a book. Among the reasons given, such as only a few hundred people make a living at it, he says that writing a book just isn’t fun:

Many people imagine that they’d “fullfill themselves” (whatever that means) if they wrote a book; or that they’d get a deep pleasure out of the craft elements of the job. In fact, writing a book is a lot of work, and often work of a very tedious kind. It’s heavy labor, more akin to building a house than puttering in your basement. (And no one builds a house purely for the pleasure of it.)
…
But writing a book isn’t something that can be done in a week or a month. It weighs on you; it’s a bear to wrestle into submission, and it’s followed by the (generally) no-fun publishing process. And then you’ve got to endure the almost inevitable commercial disappointment. Imagine going to all the trouble of building your dream house (by hand, naturally) – and then people ignore it.

I do agree with Michael – book writing isn’t done in a week or a month. And during a deadline, or if you’re having trouble with your subject, it can weigh on you. But he’s focusing exclusively on the darker moments of writing.

Sure there are times when the words feel as if they have to be dragged out of your very soul; but then there are other times when your fingers can’t move fast enough in order to keep up with your thoughts. Sometimes you get a good editor, sometimes you don’t, but when you have a good one, the editing process can be enormously satisfying.

And when you get your first copy of the book, what a feeling of accomplishment. The same feeling you get when someone is kind enough to write you and let you know how much they enjoyed the book, or how much the book helped them.

According to Michael, the only reasons why people would consider writing books are:

  • Some hope to hit the jackpot despite the odds
  • Some have a dream about being an author, or taking part in “literature”
  • Some are obsessed lunatics – ie., they feel they just gotta
  • Some don’t know better (these usually never write a second book)
  • Some have other ambitions, and writing a book is a step along the way
  • A handful are determined to be trade-book authors as a career, and know what the game consists of, and have (or think they have) the tenacity, toughness, talent, luck and energy to succeed

I am guilty. I am an obsessed lunatic.

Seriously, Michael Blowhard has good points: writing books is not an easy thing to do; it takes time, discipline, a certain kind of writing ability, and most people who write don’t make a living at it. As for being part of the literary world, well, for most of us, writing a book might get us a cup of coffee at Starbuck’s, but only at one located in a Barnes & Noble. But still, there are some of us tenacious, tough, determined, hopefully talented people who keep at it. Because in the end, the writing’s the thing. That’s one Michael forgot to include in his list.

Categories
Political Weblogging Writing

A Missouri woman heads to American Streets

Starting this next Sunday, I’ll be writing a weekly essay at The American Street–my first time as contributor to a group weblog. Each essay is a longer writing, and may or may not include links. Though the topic will vary from week to week, I hope to bring a unique perspective to each that reflects, among other things, being a woman living in Missouri. Since it’s been said by those who say such things that women prefer facts over theory, you might say I’m providing the show me sex in the show me state viewpoint.

(Speaking of which, Missouri, an important swing state in the upcoming election, is also the site of one of four presidential debates scheduled for this Fall. It’s also a popular campaign stop for both parties, as witness President Bush’s visit today.)

I’ve resisted group weblogs in the past, preferring to keep all my writing here in my own space. What changed my mind in this case–aside from the other excellent writers at The American Street, not to mention my respect for Kevin Hayden–is that I want the discipline that comes with writing in another’s space, and at specific times in the week.

I’m writing on impulse too much lately. Writing impulsivly is not the same as being fresh and spontaneous. There is an element of ‘knee jerk’ reaction to impulsive writing, and I end up regretting such writing, more often than not.

Unfortunately, there’s a lot of material lately that leads to reactive behavior, much of it political in nature. I’ve been reading the top linked stories the last few week and I’m seeing a new element entering into weblogging; we’ll call it the “Fox” element for want of another classification. You can see it with the relatively new weblog written by Michelle Malkin, who happens to be, among other things, a Fox News Contributor.

Malkin has looked at weblogging and seen what it’s done for Wonkette and others, and has enthusiastically jumped in. She’s a real pro, too, having written for the New York Post and National Review Online, as well as being trained by that media maw that is known as Fox. Though we can laugh and sneer at Fox’s lack of credibility, make no mistake–it is the highest rated news station in the country now. Fox sells here in Missouri. Fox sells in a lot of places.

Malkin has, quickly and efficiently, demonstrated how to push the right buttons with her writing. Though I am pleased to see a woman gain such immediate attention, I am less than sanguine when I read her form of journalism.

Malkin succeeds by generating impulsive reactions. Whether they are reactions for or against (primarily for, at this time), there is something about her writing that makes me, at least, want to sit down in a heat of anger and write a blistering refutation.

However, the problem with this kind of reaction is all we’re doing is responding to having our buttons pushed; instead of providing a counter-point, we’re providing a chorus. It’s somewhat comparable to Fox News and that new documentary, Outfoxed. Is Outfoxed outfoxing Fox? Or will it be outfoxed itself as Fox’s audience increases rather than decreases over the next several months, thanks in part to this documentary. The documentary and that foolish MoveOn challenge of Fox’s slogan, “Fair and Balanced”, I should add.

Rather than immediately respond to Maltin’s writings, or other events just as heated and reactive, with many postings barely controlled, I’m hoping that by picking one specific topic, thinking about it carefully and calmly and then writing about it on a specific day, to a weblog shared with other people, my writing will not only be more disciplined, but more effective. The writing can still be as passionate; hopefully, though, it will also be thoughtful, cohesive, and coherent.

(Not to mention spell checked, and carefully edited for grammar. Not, toomany, comma’s or other punctuation an grammar errors other other typos in the writing of it.)

My appreciations to The American Street folks for inviting me in.

Now, I may be more thoughtful with my political writing at The American Street, but I’ll still blather incoherently about everything else here, or in Practical RDF. Just in case you were worried.

Unfortunately, reading popular political weblogs from all sides of the fence, I have a feeling my approach is not going to gain The American Street any fans.