Upon entering a writer's venue, i feel as if i were caught up in a surprise bachelor party, and i can't find the
exit. I am a bit overdressed and undermade, no fluff, no glitter. Glamour does not enter my lexicon,
romance bumps against my sensitivities and sensualia is my not so secret. I shun the use of four letter
words, my f words range between feel and fear, i am not fond of the expression having fun. No, i simply
walked into the wrong medium at the right time.
Could the writer sense the different mental planes at work here? words like underused and lonely crop up
from the pool, not paranoid, not fragile. Ego, stored up high on the shelf; it knows that, left to my scribbling,
i may eventually express all within, instead of impressing all without.
This writing life appears a bit bloggish since i migrated my logorrheic efforts, the freedom of subject
choice seems, uh? Subjective. I am swept by the whoosh of overwhelming current. The best list carries a
large percentage of men exercising their bragging rights and women flexing their hunting muscles. So, a
cliche apart, i am neither male, nor huntress. Mind over meat, should i swim upstream or drown in the
While i tentatively sniff niches, i am establishing a novel route overland and overseas, seeking evidence of
intelligentsia. And yes i have found it, buried under piles of tantalizing and enticing tales, i follow the
comment trails and discover astute readers and co-writers of the thinking ilk. Talent is sure to carve a timid
path among the needful throngs.
When all the qualitative ratio has been entered, one site seems no better, nor worse than another, just a
different home for various styles. Entertaining or stimulating, most writers have so much to share in a more
or less literary genre. Discretion being a minor virtue and kindness a major attribute, it is best to refrain
from gossip in the ball court.
Pet names and clever-clever pseudonyms may empower the timid, they provide useful cover for the
vengeful and the revelatory. However, anonymity offers little justice to the serious writer. Hidden identities
detract from the boldness of truth. Truth, the wide spectrum lenses of authoritative vision. It sneaks under
guise of freedom of speech, under cover of freedom of information. It assumes shapes in the reader's
perception, mobile, malleable.
I found concerned moralists, caring religionists and passionate atheists within the ranks of the web. Shy or
loud, in praise or protest, each digging at the essential human crust, once formed of silence and now,
loosened upon the globe in incremental word count. Gone the limits of propriety, when women were kept
busy, men were enchained to the paycheck and ideas died in the bedsheets of boredom.
In my short time of crawling out of incomputerate existence, i have grown some pride in elbowing the
literate cyber-community, i have embraced fine writing and refined conscience, i have shunned the
cyber-sluts and the psychic leeches, no, no, i do not mean, these pretty little things dressed in pretty little
things. I mean predatory trollers of lost ideals. The ones who hunger for fragile emotional systems and
jeopardize relationships through veiled identity. yet, they have provided me with necessary perspective
and patience. For this i am also grateful. Witnessing human theater through a controllable screen has
given me wider vision of the universality of drama.
We all need the nourishing atmosphere of the masters of language who help us carry the culture to a kinder
level. Did i say kind? Whether written in a cathartic fit or an artistic fiesta, the object of the logos is to
dispense experience to the creative diaspora out there. So, engage the subconscious, be selfish!. When
at the quietest of moments, a thought comes upon you, find a pen, gently, so as not to startle the idea, for it
may never visit this way again, not in the same form, not in these very words, ever.
Verve will evaporate if you open your mouth. The tiny leaks of momentary glory will ooze the plot out,
piecemeal if you satisfy the questions with any answer about your writing themes. Sensuous or lyrical,
serious or satirical, show, don't tell?. So, mind hermetically sealed against vicarious seepage, keyboard at
the ready? i am eager to nestle among the quasi anonymity of the literary web-mass awaiting out there.
Meat, may provide you with empiric, sensory memory of the flesh, but the cryptic mind will decode the rest.
Dictate to your fingers, release the pressure of unspent enthusiasm, never to divulge the whole story till it
appears on screen for the intended audience. Thank you for relieving me of my cyber-social duties, for
deflating my pockets of guilt. Words can pull the ballast out of the writer's plexus. But, readers have the
power to restore the balance.