Why do I have to become a Geek?
It ain’t fair. I never was cut out to learn this computer stuff. I write. That means I think. That means “I am,” to paraphrase a famous philosophical phrase.
Why does someone who daily dips into a well of inspiration need to not only draw up the water, but also carry the bucketful of ideas and deliver them house to house?
Just let me write. I should not be required to use such things as an “image,” a picture, a drawing. Or some other devise to highlight my message. Words themselves should be enough. It was the “pen” that was mightier than the sword. Not the pen and the ink and the Bond paper and the thumbnail pix of an author in the corner of revolutionary pamphlet.
Do you know how hard it is sometimes to come up with a new, creative idea? Why should anyone have to be concerned about how to “house” that idea, how to “broadcast ” it, or which category to send it for maximum exposure.
It’s the Writing, stupid, the Writing.
Don’t be concerned with anything else, is what I say.
Not that we’re any better than anyone else. Far from it. We, as writers, are “sufferers.” We often bleed in order to touch that something “special” we believe is inside of each and every one of us. It hurts sometimes. You never really know if you have stuck gold or merely gold-colored dirt when you dig. The process involves internal searching, psychoanalysis at times. You don’t always find pretty pictures at the digging site. Some times you glimpse the ugliness, the hidden vein, that dark side and you want to run away screaming, denying that anything so horrific could possibly live inside of such a nice person as yourself.
Or like me.
But, we all must learn to adjust with the times. We have learned to type. That was a big step for any wannabe “writer.” Sure, some still peck and hunt. But we became accomplished with a keyboard.
Now, I have to figure out how to insert a “hyper link,” to either create or join a “blog roll,” not to mention figure out “Twitter.” It can be a mighty task.
So when you see me mess up, presenting a post in tiny agate type, or colored in off-the-wall shade of red, cut me a little slack. I’m simply adding a “finishing touch” to my smile, my voice. You’ll still recognize me beneath the new clothes and make-up.
The writing will shine through. (I hope!)