I see it time and time again, but it’s with my peers too. And some, especially lately on social media, seem to expend an awful lot of energy on comparing themselves to others, and then acting atrociously as a result. But I don’t think they realize that it stems from comparison, because it takes form in reverse. It’s a passive aggressive sort of thing. I see it in some poetry. I see it in some commenting. What exactly am I talking about? I’m talking about people who don’t even realize they are comparing themselves to others, because they mask it as a sort of diatribe of superiority against contemporary writers and poets. They “bash” others in their quest to feel better about themselves, which begs the question: Why? Why expend so much energy on creating a negative environment that says: I’m better than you. I’m a better wordsmith. You don’t do this like I do therefore, you’re mediocre, and so on. Isn’t that a form of comparison? I don’t think it has a damn thing to do with them truly thinking they are superior. No. I think it’s actually the opposite. It’s a comparison, maybe even subconscious, that is actually making them feel inadequate, it’s their only refuge. Whether it be to ask: Why is THAT book or THAT poetry doing better than mine? Why is that post or that poem getting so many likes? It is a COMPARISON. It is a comparison of what YOU are doing against what OTHERS are doing or what is happening for them and not you. And bashing others or their work is really just a loud coping mechanism. Guess what? I’m on to you. Maybe you disagree with me, and I’d love to hear it! But my motto in my life right now is: DO YOU. I’ll do me. And if we meet in the middle to shake hands, wonderful. If we don’t? Go pound sand and keep digging your own grave. Working WITH people not AGAINST people is the only way to grow. Lifting people while staying grounded is what a community of writers or learners is. Without roots, nothing lasts. Without roots, everything gets easily plucked away in the wind and dies. So I say: Stop insulting other people. because you aren’t where you think you should be. Compare yourself to where you were yesterday and drink in the sun and water to grow. And if there isn’t any sun or water where you are, find another place. Then water those around you too. And watch just what happens to a rose and the whole rose bush when you do. Look back, yes, but only to compare yourself to the you YOU were before it bloomed and now. And smile with joy.
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Where do you meet authors? Where do you hear about their books? How do you discover your next read? And what actually makes you BUY a book versus just waiting around for that freebie? What is too high a cost for you? Do you even need to buy books anymore? You’re reading this, because, somehow, we’ve connected. What drew you to me? And how did you find me? Was it my erotic romances? My new adult fiction? Or my poetry? Or did you find me some other way and still not yet bought or read a book of mine? In a world that seems to create more and more technology that is supposed to make our lives easier, it becomes more and more difficult for an indie author to decide where to spend their time. Building a following is work. It’s another full-time job to not only our full-time day jobs but also our full-time writing jobs! When I first started, I was only on Twitter. I liked the quick banter. The immediate following. The ease with which to discover people with similar interests. And the people I met on Twitter are now some of my oldest friends in the Indie community to this date. And by oldest, I mean longest. 😊 Facebook had turned me off long before, when students of mine started to “friend request” me, and I didn’t have the heart to not accept. I saw my family in disputes over this cousin not liking this cousin’s post, and I just decided: This is a silly hassle. I don’t need social media to see my friends and family. Instagram was a novelty to me. And well, TikTok wasn’t even a thing!
But as time went on, I joined Facebook as RB, and well, I found myself really enjoying the medium of it. I liked that I could write as much as I wanted and wasn’t restricted to “character” constraints. I liked the groups. I liked the layout and the format. But Facebook has changed A LOT in just the few years I’ve been on it. It’s over saturated. They want you to pay for your posts or they don’t pop them into feeds. And groups seem to be a lot of the same. Silly memes. Mindless games. And places for people to be, well, social and flirty, often in the most inane and mundane ways. But is Facebook a place where people talk about books anymore? Or share their love of an author’s work? I find, more and more, people are looking to be entertained in ways that really have nothing to do with reading. And TikTok? Well, the jury is out on even how long it will last, given all the implications of privacy and the ownership in China. It’s also the biggest rabbit hole of dumb I’ve seen in a very long time. The more outrageous, the more it’s watched. It’s a strange thing, this societal shift of entertainment over truth or quality or depth. TikTok mentality is basically humankind mentality these days. But is an author making silly faces and putting on silly costumes really what it takes to sell books these days? Or does even that just lead to a laugh and an empty promise? And now Facebook is scrambling to keep up, begging people to post more reels, to compete with what exactly? More silly entertainment? Have I used the word silly yet? 😉 I don’t know these answers. I just know who I am and what I stand for. I know that I want to share my work with people, but I also don’t want to just give it all away to everyone for free, all the time. Actually publishing a book takes such work and energy, and every time I offer something FREE, I become a “best seller” (note the irony of the word seller there). I have often made it as an Amazon Best Seller with paid books too (who hasn’t really), but it’s usually only in the first month or two of a release or if I run a paid ad that even being an Amazon Best Seller doesn’t do more than help me break a little more than even. I guess the answer, if I were to offer one, is to simply do what brings us joy, share to social media places we enjoy being on. But then again, do we ever grow if we only stay in our comfort zones? If we don’t learn new things? Is selling books really just learning new tricks? If so, this young dog may already be too old for a new bag! 😊 Have you ever tried to shut down for just 24 hours? No technology whatsoever? No phone. No internet. Just quietude? Or what about just Social Media? Staying away from Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and the myriad other places you might frequent. How did it make you feel? I want to try to go at least one day without checking into my accounts, just one day of not going onto Messenger. Just one day of not checking book sales. As I sat down to write this, and opened my computer, the screen saver was a universe of blue and purple and teal and bright and light stars. Beautiful really. Like a Van Gogh painting of space. But the longer I sat behind my laptop, the more I saw myself blending into it. The longer I stared, the more I could see myself in its reflection, just a shadow, and the stars became blurred and universe, so pretty when I opened it, faded into the background as I became more prominent in the picture. It was the exact reverse of when I first opened my computer and stared at the screensaver image, full of color and wonder, now it was just me, faceless, a black outline. Sounds like a bad acid trip, doesn’t it? But I’m afraid, it’s who we’re all becoming, extensions of technology. The very first thing I do when I wake in the morning is search for my phone. It lights up in my face like someone with a flashlight, and I draw my legs into a comfortable position, tucking myself on my side, and lounge and search and drift and write, perfectly content to lazily stretch and roll about, making my already messy sheets messier. It relaxes me. It’s much like the days of old, reading a newspaper slowly, pouring coffee, and then sipping it alongside the Arts and Entertainment section. Though I still do that on Sundays (less and less it seems), this is similar. I open my news apps first, then I surf Pinterest, get caught up on some blogs, and then begin the Social Media frenzy. No coffee, just me, my bed, and my pal, my phone. The mere thought of not waking to my phone produces a bit of panic and anxiety in me. Usually waiting for me under my pillow, my hands search blindly for the rectangular handheld gold, and when it’s not there, I feel my heartbeat rise, my eyes pop open, my feet already on the cold floor, searching desperately like the most important part of me has bee stolen, before I realize it’s on the nightstand. And then, I can climb back in, roll about in the wee hours of morning, like a lazy semi-conscious slumber: calm, languid, as long as I can scroll my phone and hold it close like a teddy bear. Its soothing...And it’s dangerous. Because as much as I tell myself it’s bad and I must put it down and I must shut it off and that the time is getting away from me, and I’ll be throwing my hair into another messy bun because I’m late, I’m finding it harder and harder to stop it. And even as I’m telling myself I need to put it down, I can’t. It’s addiction, I’m afraid. Plain and simple. So, next week, I’m going to give it a go. Shut down for at least 24 hours. Like anything else in life, baby steps. I’ll try just one day. But with any addiction, it takes more than one day, and perhaps, that is why I know I can do it. Because I’ll be back, right there with my favorite blanket to comfort me. Will anyone notice? Or miss me? Highly doubtful. And that is the saddest part of addiction. The addiction doesn't need you. It will find its next victim. But you? You'll go into serious withdrawals, because you need IT, and if you don't? Perhaps you don't. Need. It. At. All... I’m becoming
the screen, the glare all I see-- mesmerizing addictive vapid-- a black hole of light, swirling with impermanent nothingness. I fade Into the background of its rectangle. Everything blurs. Everything’s lukewarm. Everything’s grey. I’m bored to tears, the plop of them, hard and heavy, echoing in my ears of sleep and wake, my thumb, my brain, the click click tap tap of another digital number turning its red face. And I am a constant blue. R.B. O'Brien Author Friendship, true friendship, is rare. Can you find it even with people you haven’t met in real life? Do you have friends online that you feel closer to than some in your physical world? And if so, do you think there’s something wrong with that? That there is something wrong with you? Must you be with someone in the flesh, in the real “touching” world to be close to them? To have a real relationship? I used to think I had the answers to those questions. But I don’t. I have a life outside of online social media. A full life. Sometimes too full to be honest. But this online life of mine feels every much as real. Am I fooling myself? Is this as fleeting as the online internet provider’s connection? Some days, I think yes. People I thought were my friends disappoint. Lie. Say they support but don’t. But that is no different than real life friends or co-workers, people who constantly let you down or don’t have the same work ethic as you. Self-absorbed people who talk and talk and talk about themselves but never ask how you are doing…who don't see the consequences of their actions and often play the victim. Those people, I’m sure, are the same in their everyday, flesh lives as well. That's just who they are. It doesn’t have anything to do with social media or being online. We can’t “fake” the essence of who we are. Everyone’s true self comes out eventually, especially when you’ve been in the game this long. I’d rather have 10 close friends I can count on than 1000 fake ones, only after self- preservation. So today, I want to dedicate this post to tried and true friends, and in particular, a very special group of friends, The Writers of NuR, as we just saw our first anthology, Beyond the Last Page, go live and with great success! You are my writing comrades, but it’s more for me. We are friends. I count on you. And I hope you can count on me. We worked through deadlines, edits, critiques, and publishing. We listened to each other. We encouraged each other. We supported each other and left our egos at the door. We cheered each other on, sometimes hearing things about our work we didn't want to. We grew together. And we produced something I’m quite proud of, and quite smoothly I might add, a group dedicated to something outside of themselves. Though some of you I haven’t met in the flesh, you are every bit as real to me, sometimes more so. I like waking up knowing there is someone there to say good morning and really mean it, who listens with sincerity, and who isn’t a fair-weather fan, but a tried and true friend. Congratulations to our first, and, hopefully, many more successes. Cheers! When I lost my aunt in December, my cousins asked me to rifle through pictures to see what I had, and it reminded me of so many things. There is something lost now, isn’t there? With our phones and our i-pads and our video capacity. We seem to lose so much, and one would think it would be the opposite, but it really isn’t. There is something special about those old photographs, much like old letters or postcards we’ve kept over the years. There’s something about holding them in our hands, touching them, running our fingers across the front, flipping them over to read the back, see the year, maybe the place. My mother was forever marking up those photographs. And everything looks so…I don’t know, pretty and nostalgic, especially when in black and white, like some of my mom’s baby pictures or first communion I came across. They somehow feel alive. They feel as if they're breathing right there next to us. The same is true of old letters or writing. There really is nothing that can replace handwriting. I remember holding Emily Dickinson’s work once in the basement annex of Amherst College, wearing gloves, being watched as if I might steal them. Smart. I wanted to. I regret the love letters I tossed or the notes from friends during class. I had a best friend and she and I wrote old-fashioned letters to one another in middle school, professing our “friends forever” in black-ink promises, only to be tossed as I moved or aged. Not enough space. Oh, the regret! A new study I read recently stated that this generation (is that me?) is losing living in the moment. That everyone is so Instagram-ized, trying to take the best pictures possible – oh, look at me eating this; or oh, I just saw this magnificent sunset; or oh, look at my dog being silly—that we’re no longer really living in the moment, or even enjoying it, or even REMEMBERING IT at all later, but instead, living for the moment to take a damn picture. How sad if that’s true! What will become of our memories or experiences if we’re so hung up on taking the picture, not for ourselves, but instead for someone else to say: Oh, isn’t Rosemary the coolest cat ever?
When I came across some of the pictures, it reminded, too, of my childhood and a scene in Edge of Torment I took from my own life, where Patricia, Annabelle’s best friend, has displayed a photograph of the two of them at Patricia's brother Billy’s wedding. It’s two best friends in a pool wearing funky glasses, and I remember exactly the moment I stole the idea from. It was with my cousin, my favorite cousin still to this day, and at the service, I asked her if she too remembered those days in the back yard at 4 or 5 or if the memory was only because of that picture. She remembered it just as I had and, though sad at where we were presently, we smiled and laughed and hugged, poured some wine afterwards, and sat down to reminiscence. That’s what photographs do for us. And I’m grateful I still have boxes upon boxes of them even if I’ve lost so many of the people in them. They are engraved somewhere inside my heart’s mind, far from being lost. And that brought me comfort. We live in an age that contradicts itself. Do you notice that? Recycle but not plastic bags. Open your mind but not when it disagrees with my politics. Don't pirate my work but, here, it's all free. And buy books, but save trees. It's a polarizing time to live, and it's also a confusing time. And what is happening to the poet in all of this? Is there any such thing anymore? Has the internet killed the poet? Does anyone BUY poetry? Or are they just cruising the internet, reading what snippets come their way? This discussion has been on my mind lately. and I asked if people still bought poetry books. Do you? Or are poetry books a bit of a thing of the past, that the internet is littered with poetry if you want it, so why buy a damn thing? I buy books. Oh do I buy books. Not like the ones I write much, but nonetheless, I'm constantly reading before I fall asleep at night. Many of my newer books are on my kindle now, yes, because of the environment, but also for its convenience. I used to be against the kindle, until, of course, I actually owned one and could take and read as many books as I wanted at once. But poetry books are the one thing, besides my own, I do not have on my kindle. I own Dickinson and Shakespeare and Cummings and Plath and Whitman and...and...and...all in paperback or hardcover. I read them over and over. Paper books, somehow, are just perfect to plop down in a chair with by the fire to read. One poem or two at a sitting, sipping wine or drinking tea, god, I want to be doing it right now! I have no idea what it is about it that needs to be paper for me when it comes to poetry. Maybe it's because somehow poetry carries with an antiquated sense of romance, perhaps one we fear we are losing with the ubiquitous presence of the internet and technology and the constant barrage of poetry in bite-sizes, quick candies, not to be savored and marked and shared as we once did, but now to be shared in a sentence or two on those damn squares I've bitched about before (and won't do it again. You can read it here: BLOG) as if bumper stickers are poetry. Grab a coffee. Read a line. Breathe out the hot steam of coffee and call yourself a poetry lover. I'm not sure if the internet has killed or is killing the poet or not. There are certainly no shortages of poets out there. I, myself, call myself a poet, never said a great one, but I am a poet nonetheless. Hell, I think everyone has a poet in him/her if I'm being honest, so who I am to say what is and what isn't great poetry. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Instagram squares are the best invention ever made for the writer. I will say this. I think really great poetry gets overshadowed by what has become standard poetry. People want their quick fixes. They don't often want to think or reread poetry or read it aloud. Today, if it's not understood on the first read, someone shouts: "I hate poetry. I don't understand it. I don't get poetry," unless, of course, they find it on Instagram. And the moon is mentioned. Next to the sun. :) Maybe I'm not young anymore. Maybe I need to get with the times. Or maybe, I'll just sit down here at work for a few moments, savor a poem or two, and shut off the internet for a little longer than a flash of a disappearing tweet. Today I ponder plastic surgery and social media filters. What say you on these topics? In news this week, there have been many reports about something the media is calling: Snapchat Dysmorphia. (Don’t you just love when they come up with these catchphrases everyone latches onto?) CBS reported: “Plastic surgeons are sounding the alarm on a disturbing trend that's emerged with the growing popularity of social media: patients seeking cosmetic surgery to resemble how they see themselves in Snapchat filters,” which has “people requesting fuller lips, bigger eyes, or a thinner nose in order to look like the filtered or photo-edited versions of themselves.” I have longed worried about this. Not the plastic surgery idea. I never in my wildest imagination thought that it would lead to plastic surgery increases to this extent, but I have worried about the foolish filters and annoying filter of Snapchat. (Sorry to those who love them. That is your call.) I remember when Snapchat first got popular, and I said to my hairdresser: “I don’t get it? What is the difference between that and other forms of social media formats?” And she responded: “You can make yourself look so much prettier and cuter. Look I’ll show you. Everyone looks good in these filters!” They do? Bunny noses? Or big ol’ Puss ‘n’ Boots eyes? Bubble heads? I didn’t get it. Still don’t. And refuse to get it. I’ve blogged about body image denial before and its devastating effects (SEE ARTICLE HERE ) as well as INTERPERSONAL ISSUES FROM SOCIAL MEDIA, but this goes even further. Altering one’s body and face to LOOK like the fake pictures is startling. Doctors themselves who make a living off plastic surgery are saying that these trends “lead to the development of body dysmorphic disorder, or BDD, a mental health condition in which a person is preoccupied with a nonexistent or minor flaw in their physical appearance.” We all dislike things about our bodies or faces. But isn’t that what makes us unique? Too-large breasts that hurt our backs or too-small breasts that make clothes shopping so disheartening we may fall into depression may be reason for plastic surgery. A deformity of some sort or a health risk may be other reasons. And maybe these things or others aid in people's self-esteem and so does a world of good for them. I don't know. But these Snapchat filter requests are for little things. Minute. Things only the "filter user" or "snapchatter" sees in him/herself. And the plastic surgery is to address these little flaws (real or perceived) with big consequences. It’s alarming to say the least. Why are we going backwards when it comes to appearances and looks? I thought we were moving in a more substantive direction, but this is proving the contrary. We're becoming more and more superficial, and I have no idea why. Is it technology? Is it that for the first time, we have ways to combat our physical insecurities? But. It's. Not. Real! Does any of that matter to anyone anymore? Are the lines of real and fantasy becoming so blurred that there is no difference? And this plastic surgery is no longer a thing for celebrities. The increase in plastic surgery is directly related to selfies and social media. “The number of people seeking plastic surgery because they want to improve how they look in selfies has been increasing. A 2017 survey from the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery sound that 55 percent of surgeons report seeing patients who mention selfies as a reason for requesting surgery.” Further, something I echoed in my earlier blog above, a Boston University study stated that the “impact of digitally-perfected selfies may be especially harmful to young people… Filtered selfies especially can have harmful effects on adolescents or those with BDD because these groups may more severely internalize this beauty standard.” So where does that leave us? And where do everyday people get the money for plastic surgery? They probably can’t, and therefore, wallow in self-hatred behind filters and social media, becoming more and more trapped in a virtual reality. Will the future bring us only virtual interactions where we can use Snapchat to alter our noses and eyes? Will we ever meet people in person again, too afraid they won’t like our REAL noses and eyes? Or will the future basically turn people into perfect clones of each other, robots?
I do fear for the future and choose NOT to use Snapchat. I don’t show my face on social media because I can’t and because of what I write in a world of what I call: Erotica Judgmentals. 😊 (Like that?). I can't tell you how many times I've talked about that. (CLICK HERE for one.) So a big sorry goes out to all my students who will have to look at my mug for 15 long weeks soon. Oh well. Reality’s a bitch. Get used to it. Arti:cle used CBS News. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/snapchat-dysmorphia-selfies-driving-people-to-plastic-surgery-doctors-warn/. 6 August 2018. Is the internet and things like DMs and Messenger the new form of letter writing? Is it so bad? We had this discussion a bit in The Nu Romantics the other day about the handwritten manuscript, notes, or letters, that it is becoming a lost art, the beauty fading, and so, too, may be our words. Are these capabilities making interpersonal relationships and communication a thing of the past? Are we doomed to face a world like the one presented in the novel, "Ella Minnow Pea"? (If you haven't read that by the way, I highly recommend it.) For all its ills, there is something romantic about the communication of writing. Yes. I see its flaws. I see the idea that people may be losing their ability to talk face-to-face, that interpersonal skills may be lacking as a result of texting and the like. But, for me, it has freed me. It has freed me from a life of writing academically, of putting on my masks at work and even in my personal life. R.B. has freed a world of words and ideas and thoughts, free to say almost (almost because I still am me) anything I'm feeling, to embrace my dark and my light. To write. Yes. To write. I write all the time now because of technology. I speak into my phone and type it later. I pull over on the side of the road and write into my notes. I can be at work in the most boring of meetings, listening to someone who just wants to hear himself talk, see a prompt somewhere, and type into my notes app on my phone. I see a sunset. I write. I watch a ballet and I write. I go to the theatre and I write. I lie on the beach...and yes, I write. I cannot tell you how many times I had an idea or a thought and poof, it's gone, because I didn't have my notebook or pen, or if I did, it would be too obvious and maybe even rude. The phone, once a rude invasion, has become almost a part of us, to pull it out now is normal, expected...do I put it away sometimes? Of course I do. There are times and places it's unacceptable, and sometimes, even then, I scurry off the bathroom and hide and jot down a thought, a phrase, a moment. I dare say it's made me a better writer. Even these blogs I write: So many ideas flit through my mind and I lose them if I don't write them down...and so, my phone is my mind on many occasions...I write poems on it. I write micro shorts. I write these blogs. But the best thing I love about this thing we call the internet is the ability to find love, to fall in love with someone's soul rather than their looks or other things we tend to judge people on. I get to communicate with people all over the world, and get to know them, as we learn to communicate more clearly through the written word. Like a time long ago where a lover across seas or at war can only communicate through a written letter, so, too, has the internet's channels of conversation done the same. The only difference? Sometimes it even makes us closer. It's immediate. It's right there, at our fingertips. I see something, I want to share with a friend, and I can write her. I can take a picture and send it. We can "talk" about it live...and it's organic and just as real as a real-time conversation in person. There is nothing stopping us from communication but a signal. Why must in-person be the best form of communication? Says who? I challenge you to tell me why. It's a shift, I realize, in thinking...but that's life. Evolution. On Twitter last week, there was a prompt about what our phones are saying behind our backs. I laughed reading some of those. We can be naked. We can be in the tub. We can be in bed, under covers, in the dark when we're supposed to be sleeping, and have some of the most beautiful conversations. We can learn at any hour, from anyone we choose. We learn about other people and countries and ideas, things we could never do in person for myriad reasons, like money or time or space. it erases those obstacles. It opens us up to worlds this lifetime would never allow us to see. We may even fall in love with people we'll never meet. And somehow, that in itself, is one of the most romantic notions I can think of. Perhaps, even, I shall write a story and publish it about one such love affair, a couple madly in love, whose fate hangs in the balance of cyberspace. Yes. I dare say it again. The internet has made me a better writer. And this blog will now be shared with thousands of people, for better or worse. THAT could never happen otherwise. And to think, my phone and the internet made it possible...
Is social media killing our interpersonal skills? Our flesh and blood lives? Are we spending too much time on the virtual rather than the real? It seems more and more of my friends are making decisions to leave Social Media (SM), or at the very least, put it waaaay in the background of their lives. As a writer, and a published writer trying to sell books, it’s hardly an option for me to leave altogether. Or is that a lie I’m telling myself? If I were to leave it, would my sales suffer or remain the same? So I ask myself: What am I getting out of SM and is it worth it to stick around? By the very nature of the term--Social Media—it seems just that, a place to socialize, which is fine. New ones are popping up, like MeWe, but from all accounts, that is very “social” and perhaps just another time-suck void, a place to "pick up" someone. I'm not interested in that. And what of those of us who use a penname of sorts, completely separate life from our non-virtual world, filled with a completely different set of friends and acquaintances, another universe entirely? Where do we draw the line? If SM means to use “media” to be “social,” where do we distinguish our “real” lives from the ones in cyberspace? How “real” is this virtual world and are we living in a place that doesn’t really exist? Are we creating a fantasy existence we simply don’t have in the outside, flesh and blood world, living our lives here, as if in a dream we can create? Do the lonely need social media the most? Lost in the real world? Unfulfilled? We sure do get caught up in it. We spend an inordinate amount of time here, scrolling, liking, commenting, posting…only to look up at the time and think: Well, where the hell did THAT go? People run the gamut from falling in love to backstabbing on the daily. It’s like living in a video game I think somedays, where we feel more alive and real 'there' than 'here.' My circle of friends are primarily writers (and of course readers—I hope—or this whole thing becomes Theatre of the Absurd). Is that why we like it here so much? Because we are creating, the very fiber of what being a writer is? Are we, then, writing our own stories in essence? Maybe the story we want to have? Isn’t that what a writer does? Write stories? I don’t know the answers to these questions. I’m asking them. I’m watching it destroy people while lift and free others. Where do I fit in? Is it slowly killing me or is it helping me to live a life of creative freedom, one I may not have otherwise? Or is it like any addiction where we ask the same questions: Is it affecting my real life? Is it ruining parts of my life? Am I ignoring things that should not and cannot be ignored? But then without it, addiction or otherwise, I would ask: Is this the place I NEED to spend time to write, to create, to live out fantasies? Is that just the curse of being a creative being and that this modern-day venue, almost a romantic throwback to a time of love letters and waiting for the touch of someone while basking in it at the same time, is actually a gift to stay alive? There is something so paradoxical about it, isn’t it? It’s so modern and so evasive but is it really any different than old—school paper and pen? Our letters we write to the world? Is social media really just that for writers? Our journals? Our stories? Our poems? Us? I guess I must really answer these things, for me, personally, and through the lens of my existence as a writer. But I will end with this. Either we want to share our work as writers or we don’t. It’s really that simple. If we want to write for only ourselves, there is absolutely no reason to stay on social media. None, except to be "social." And I fear too many writers are using it for only that. But even as I write that, I almost disagree and could argue that social media has made writers of us all…for every post we write is a form of just that, writing. We are human. We want to be heard. But is our quest of wanting to be “liked” slowly destroying our humanity, our true capabilities to love one another? Is it a false love? A façade? A meaningless void of nothingness?
I’ve said it before: I write. Therefore I am. If I cease to write for others, will I, myself, cease to exist? I will exist just as sure as I'm watching the clouds scroll across the sky right the way I'm scrolling my words to you right now. But I think I'd be dead. Today I ponder looks and body image in today’s society and ask: Do you believe body image and looks matter less and less, that we are finally starting to see people and souls and energies behind the masks, or do you think it’s worse than it has ever been? Do people put too much stock into the way they look? Do you? I don’t know about you, but I think we all have body issues. Find me one person who is completely satisfied with the way they look, and I’ll eat crow. Perhaps it was something one person said a long time ago in childhood, or worse, during those awkward stages of braces or acne. For me, it’s always been my legs, that they aren’t dancer legs, long and lean, but instead, shorter and more defined. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to accept my perceived flaws a bit more. It’s a beautiful thing when you find love, and where those things you once dreaded or hated about yourself, say freckles for instance, have now become the focal point of affection, and suddenly, you’re quite proud you have them. And in a society where the Kardashians are “news” (gag), and where people watch this show like a religion to see what styles they will don now or what weight they will lose or what color their hair may be or what latest plastic surgery they can get to alter their looks, it’s hard to think we’ve come that far. Never mind all the book covers we see daily with perfect women or sculpted, perfect male abs. Heaven forbid a woman (or man) may not buy our books unless someone’s pectoral muscles are front and center. Show me a man in glasses reading a book, and I’m more likely to buy your book! But I know, I’m in the minority. I’m not naïve to think otherwise. Sometimes on social media, I find it to be a breath of fresh air in that many of us don’t know what each other fully looks like, and so, we base our decisions of “likability,” or as Facebook likes to call it, “friendship,” on not looks but instead, personality or work or behavior. A student made me rethink even that though. She proposed a thesis that stated: "Too many people base their self-esteem on the number of likes they get on social media apps where they can change their appearance to look different than what they are. I believe those false filters should be stated up front or banned altogether." I never really thought about that. I don’t have Snapchat and I only just started on Instagram, but I guess most people use it to show pictures of themselves and alter them, that the app allows that, to make prettier faces, cute bunny noses, hip sunglasses, and on and on. Still, I stuck to my guns regarding why people may “like” another. It’s their heart or soul, you know, that proverbial: “It’s the-inside-not -the-outside-that-counts mantra. After reading her thesis, I was reminded of when I went to see The Black Panther, and a promo teaser for the movie "I Feel Pretty" came on, and I wondered, as I watched it, if there would be backlash about it (of course, there is). I'm a huge fan of Amy Schumer --I must admit--and found myself laughing at the trailer and quite impressed with her candor to strip and show herself naked, with all her imperfections, unfiltered and unedited, that maybe we were getting somewhere, that maybe at long last, the quest to be the perfect size or to emulate the perfect look is a thing of the past. But in a NY Times article, it stated that the premise and message of the movie, that “looks don’t matter” is utter bullshit, a lie the media is trying to stuff down our throats, that looks matter more than ever, especially for women, today. Amanda Hess writes in the article: "The reality is that expectations for female appearances have never been higher. It’s just become taboo to admit that…This new beauty-standard denialism is all around us. It courses through cosmetics ads, fitness instructor monologues, Instagram captions and, increasingly, pop feminist principles. In the forthcoming book ‘Perfect Me,’ Heather Widdows, a philosophy professor at the University of Birmingham, England, convincingly argues that the pressures on women to appear thinner, younger and firmer are stronger than ever...Along with YouTube makeup tutorials and Instagram fashion influencers, beauty-standard denialism has exploded online...."
So I ask you: Is female appearance higher than ever as this article espouses? Or are the Dove-type commercials, and the like, slowly changing that stereotype? The NY Times article says no. Me? I’m not quite sure. Everything I wrote above could, very well, be what Ms. Hess has written in her article as “denialism.” You can read it in full here: Article here: https://www.nytimes.com/2018/04/23/movies/i-feel-pretty-amy-schumer-beauty.html |
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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