Category: thoughts on the fly

Is it something in the water? Are there really that many folks out there in the real world who have nothing better to do with their lives than “tweet” on Twitter or send instant messages, text messages (cell phones) and generally blather and blah?  How in the world do you concentrate on “doing” if all you do is blather?  Productive get-togethers are one thing, but this “social networking” is for what?  To try to win folks over to partake of your…what?  Seems to me it’s just another way to make mouth noise just because.  It’s the lonely hearts club trying to find friendship and love…or something.  Who knows.  What I know is that it’s human white-noise, and I have no use for human white noise.  It’s a waste of time and life.  Go DO SOMETHING!!!

I’m trying to reopen The Deepening, not as an online fiction magazine, but as a stimulating place to discover the joys of reading fiction.  I have a category called Peek Behind the Scenes which is supposed to give a look into the creative minds responsible for the stories.  Unfortunately, nothing much comes up in the way of “interesting” when it comes to many writers.  Most writers are REALLY BORING.  A look at their forums and their blogs will confirm this if you doubt me.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I know authors who ARE exciting people.  Their minds are constantly abuzz with what-ifs, they are forever rolling out new ideas, playing with possibilities, toying with potentials.  A few.  Some really good ones, too.  But the majority?  Omigod.  Dry, boring, awful.  The only thing coming out of their fingers when it isn’t fiction is their medical history, their love life, and their daily routines from brushing their teeth to their craving for adulation and praise  (“Pweez, pweez, wuv my stories and gimme lotz and lotz of muny.”) 

I’m sorry, but if the best thing an author has to offer as insight is some sappy, giddiness about how much they totally adore the false flattery given them by some reviewer they paid, or, worse, some whiny moan about how hard it is to get published, nobody cares, especially me.  What I want to hear is how they conceive their worlds, what generates an idea to form itself into a plot, what drives them to create characters and how they make them so real that their readers want to know more and more about those characters.

What drives the ideas? What music, sounds, visions, happenings? What happens inside them to make such magic happen with words (if what they do is any good, that is…which, for the majority who call themselves writers, isn’t)?

What do I see and hear from writers, though?

“I’ve got an adorable baby, a husband, a cat, and a dog.  I live in Anytown, AnyCountry.  I want to be rich and famous someday.  I love my new patio, and my favorite color is red.”

OR

“I’m simply the most marvelous thing since chocolate syrup.  You really will love my new book called Sonya’s Sunshine Dream and you need to buy a copy over at BlankDotCom where all my books are published by DumbSap Publishing.”

OR

“Those rotten publishers and agents won’t even look at my book.  They didn’t even have the courtesy to respond to my query until over six months after I sent it in.  And then they said no.  I mean, sure their guidelines say ninety days, but I’m special….”

Um…get a life?

Of course, artists aren’t much better, and neither are muscians, but, right now, I’m ranting on writers because it seems to me that I should be able to look somebody up and they should have more in their bio and on their blog than “I’m married and have two kids…,” “My eczema is better,” “I just finished tidying up my closet…,” or “I just got rejected again….”

Nobody cares.  Really.  Give us some insights into what catalyzes your creativity, what excites you, what makes you write a pulse-pounding story.  Else, hang it up.  Don’t say anything.  That would do you less harm.

I’m tired of caring when nobody else does.  I’m tired of working while others sit on their leisure asses complaining they don’t have any time for themselves.  I’m tired of being responsible.  I’m tired.  Time to regroup, think, contemplate.

My sight is acting up again, too.  Time to get away from the computer except for necessary and desired.

I haven’t had any sleep…well, a nap of minutes, but that doesn’t count.  Today is quiet — blissfully quiet.  Whenver it rains, the world turns quiet, and it’s GREAT.  I love the rain. I love that people stay in their homes sulking, allowing me to enjoy quietude.  It’s wonderful.

Of course, I’m a little depressed, too.  I just got wind of some more very ugly, ugly plans for the area and the neighborhood.   I need to move far, far away where no human, only nature, moves the landscape.  I absolutely abhor development of any kind.  We’re just marring the planet.  Ugly. 

Know what we need?  A world-wide virus to sterilize the entire human race and another one to attack any clones or in vitro fertilization attempts.  Until we’re down to a stable population under 1 billion world wide.  Then we need something to make sure we keep it at that level forever.