I was on AW last night and I happened to see a question someone posed concerning writers and depression. Impressed by the number of responses to the thread (it’s always good to know you’re not alone) I decided to do a little research. I found some very interesting statistics and a few surprising confessions.
I’m not going to go into a lot of detail myself, my goal here is just to make people aware. Depression can happen to anyone, but it seems to happen more easily to writers.
From the Horror Writers Association I found this:
On an afternoon in September of 1994, I sat by myself with a razor blade in my hand. Outside, the weather was hot and still. But in my head a storm raged. Dozens of disordered voices howled in the wind of that storm. Most of them were of the opinion that my work had no value; that I would never succeed as a writer, and thus would never realize my most cherished dream; that the pain of my existence had made me a liability to myself and to my family; and that I would be better off dead.
You can read the whole thing HERE
Angela Knight wrote on her blog:
I felt as if I was losing myself. One day I went in the closet and got out Mike's gun. It wasn't because I wanted to die -- it was because I felt I was already dying. Imagine being swallowed by a giant python, feeling yourself being slowly digested. Now imagine you've got a gun. That's what a suicidal depression is like. It's not that you want to die -- you just want to save what's left.
Read the whole thing HERE
Holly Lisle wrote:
I have faced the abyss of self-destruction once, when things were very bad, but managed to walk away. I've suffered from serious depression on a couple of other occasions, also from situations and events that were unbearable, and unfixable.
Read the whole thing HERE
And Elizabeth Moon wrote a very comprehensive article on depression and creativity, and why it’s a good idea that if you think you’re suffering from depression you should seek help.
. . . if you wanted to make a cheery person with no predisposition to depression depressed, you could stick him in front of a typewriter or computer for hours a day--feed him a typical writer's diet--forbid him to exercise, isolate him from friends, and convince him that his personal worth depended on his "numbers." Make him live the writer's life, in other words, and watch him sag.
Read the whole thing HERE
Now that you’re aware of some of the pitfalls of writing and depression, I want to leave you with this bit of advice from Monty Python. This isn’t meant to be frivolous, honest. I’ve been to cognitive therapy and one of the things they tell you is to always look for the good that can come out of what you may feel is even the worst situation. Trust me, it works.
May 21, 2009
May 20, 2009
Whimsical Wednesday
One benefit the cats quickly noticed about having my desk cleaned off is there’s more room for them! So this day’s whimsy is dedicated to my fur babies:
May 19, 2009
Office, Sweet Office
Just when I thought I was making headway in the cleaning/organizing of my office, I decided the new bookcase would look better on the opposite side of the room. Which of course meant I had to empty not only it, but the shorter bookcase I was switching it with. You’d think being shorter it would have less books, but unfortunately this was my “to be read” bookcase and three of the rows were doubled up.
Part of me says: Way to waste an afternoon you could have spent writing! But the other part of me says: It was worth it! Now the messy office is cleaned up and the book cases are organized and it creates an atmosphere far more conducive to writing.
Since I still don’t have a camera to take pictures, let me see if I can draw a layout for you :
Okay, that’s a really sad example of my computer drawing skills (just click on it if you want to see a bigger version) but it gives you an idea of the layout (this is so not to scale!). The three bookcases in a row are 70 inches tall, while the long one sits under a window that runs the entire width (96 inches). On top of the filing cabinet (just a two drawer one) is my ink jet printer and beside that (not shown in drawing) is a smaller desk that I keep my paper in. Beside it (which makes it directly behind the desk) is a cabinet with my laser printer on top and the rest of my office supplies inside.
This room used to be the master bedroom so the printing alcove is the closet (sans doors) and I was already wired for cable and phone. I even have the wiring in place for a second phone line, should the need ever arise.
Okay. Enough boasting of my organizational prowess. Time to write!
Part of me says: Way to waste an afternoon you could have spent writing! But the other part of me says: It was worth it! Now the messy office is cleaned up and the book cases are organized and it creates an atmosphere far more conducive to writing.
Since I still don’t have a camera to take pictures, let me see if I can draw a layout for you :
Okay, that’s a really sad example of my computer drawing skills (just click on it if you want to see a bigger version) but it gives you an idea of the layout (this is so not to scale!). The three bookcases in a row are 70 inches tall, while the long one sits under a window that runs the entire width (96 inches). On top of the filing cabinet (just a two drawer one) is my ink jet printer and beside that (not shown in drawing) is a smaller desk that I keep my paper in. Beside it (which makes it directly behind the desk) is a cabinet with my laser printer on top and the rest of my office supplies inside.
This room used to be the master bedroom so the printing alcove is the closet (sans doors) and I was already wired for cable and phone. I even have the wiring in place for a second phone line, should the need ever arise.
Okay. Enough boasting of my organizational prowess. Time to write!
May 18, 2009
Happy Victoria Day
It’s the 24th of May
the queen’s birthday
and if we don’t get a holiday
we’ll all run away.
Okay, so can someone tell me why this was the holiday weekend when the 24th is actually next Sunday? Just wondering . . .
I started out having a productive weekend. And technically, the weekend isn’t over yet because today is a holiday Monday.
I finished and *gulp* submitted my poem for the anthology. Hopefully it’s in the right format, they said standard manuscript format, so that’s what they got. I have no idea if there’s a different format poems should be sent in or not as the only other poem I’ve ever submitted was the one for the contest and it was just to be included in the body of an e-mail.
I bought my new bookcase Friday night and put it together Saturday morning. Then I spent about an hour and a half in the Wal Mart garden center (in the rain, no less) waiting for them to find the patio set they promised they called to say they had. After that I spent a goodly portion of the day de-hairing the books in the long bookcase under the window in my office, and alphabetizing them. Along the way I discovered no less than three books I have doubles of. Oops!
Needless to say, I didn’t really get any writing done on Saturday and, due to circumstances beyond my control, Sunday was pretty much a write-off (pardon the pun).
My office is about half cleaned up. The junk and extra books are out of the corners, the long bookcase looks really good (if I do say so myself), and a lot of the books that were stacked up on various surfaces around the room have found a home in the new bookcase.
Today I’d like to see if the building supply store is open so I can get another couple of shelves for my new bookcase (five shelves is never enough) and finish getting my office cleaned up/organized. Maybe I’ll even get some writing done. :-)
the queen’s birthday
and if we don’t get a holiday
we’ll all run away.
Okay, so can someone tell me why this was the holiday weekend when the 24th is actually next Sunday? Just wondering . . .
I started out having a productive weekend. And technically, the weekend isn’t over yet because today is a holiday Monday.
I finished and *gulp* submitted my poem for the anthology. Hopefully it’s in the right format, they said standard manuscript format, so that’s what they got. I have no idea if there’s a different format poems should be sent in or not as the only other poem I’ve ever submitted was the one for the contest and it was just to be included in the body of an e-mail.
I bought my new bookcase Friday night and put it together Saturday morning. Then I spent about an hour and a half in the Wal Mart garden center (in the rain, no less) waiting for them to find the patio set they promised they called to say they had. After that I spent a goodly portion of the day de-hairing the books in the long bookcase under the window in my office, and alphabetizing them. Along the way I discovered no less than three books I have doubles of. Oops!
Needless to say, I didn’t really get any writing done on Saturday and, due to circumstances beyond my control, Sunday was pretty much a write-off (pardon the pun).
My office is about half cleaned up. The junk and extra books are out of the corners, the long bookcase looks really good (if I do say so myself), and a lot of the books that were stacked up on various surfaces around the room have found a home in the new bookcase.
Today I’d like to see if the building supply store is open so I can get another couple of shelves for my new bookcase (five shelves is never enough) and finish getting my office cleaned up/organized. Maybe I’ll even get some writing done. :-)
May 15, 2009
Creative Friday
Friday’s here again. Where has the time gone?
Oh, I know where it’s gone. I’ve been spending way too much time on the poem I want to submit to the anthology. I’m not used to poetry being this hard. Even that thrice-bedamned sestina wasn’t as stubborn as this poem. So far I’ve got three solid verses, and a whole slue of single lines. Good thing I have until the end of June to get it finished.
This week’s creative offering is a story I’ve been editing. Though short for a story, it makes for a rather long post. So without further ado, I give you:
Aunt Mae Gets A Cat
It was not that Aunt Mae didn’t like cats, when I was a child I never saw her without one,
it was just that she didn’t want to be thought of as one of those old women who spent their days watching soap operas and talking to their cats. Ridiculous notion really, though you couldn’t tell her that. My brothers and I knew she didn’t like the soaps, it was the game shows she was devoted to.
Aunt Mae and Uncle Sam raised my brothers and me, I was just a baby when our parents passed away. Despite that, and the fact that I was the only girl, Aunt Mae saw to it that I wasn’t spoiled in the least. Which is not to say she was overly harsh with me, I just didn’t get any extra favors.
Anyway, it was Thanksgiving. Jeff and Mike were home from college and I was taking a holiday from the insurance firm I worked for as a secretary. No sooner had we all arrived and taken our coats off than Jeff and Mike were sent outside to rake leaves and I was muffled in a large frilly apron and firmly ensconced in the kitchen.
I was just opening the oven door to check on the pies when there was a shriek behind me and the clatter of baking dishes being dropped.
“What is it?” I asked, whirling around so fast I barked my shin on the oven door.
“Close that door!” Aunt Mae demanded. She stooped down to pick up the pans she’d dropped.
“It was nothing but a mouse. Just startled me, that’s all.”
“A mouse?” I glance around the kitchen and edged closer to one of the chairs.
“A mouse. And in my kitchen too. Nervy little beggar.”
Suicidal little beggar, I thought.
The mouse wisely choose to stay hidden the rest of the day and supper went on the table with no further incidents.
“Aunt Mae has a mouse,” I announced after grace had been said and everyone had a full plate.
“A mouse?” Mike and Jeff asked at the same time.
“No fair, Aunt Mae,” Jeff said. “You wouldn’t let me have a mouse when I was a kid, how come you get one now?”
“We never had a problem with mice when Buttons was around,” Uncle Sam put in. Buttons was Aunt Mae’s tabby that died several years ago. She liked to pretend he hadn’t meant that much to her, but she refused to get another cat.
“Esther Holland has kittens,” I told her. “She stopped me on the street yesterday to see if I’d be interested in one.”
“That’s enough!” Aunt Mae never was much of one for teasing. “It’s just one pesky rodent that’s taking liberties in my kitchen.”
“You always said, where there’s one pest there’s bound to be more,” said Mike. “If the house is getting overrun with mice you’ll have to get a cat.”
“No I won’t, Sam will set a trap for it,” Aunt Mae said calmly.
My brothers and I stared at each other. Sam? As in Uncle Sam? The man who rewired a toaster and blew out the kitchen window? The man who cut the brake lines on the car when he was trying to change the oil? The man who was not let near a hedge or garden with the clippers?
Sam, at the head of the table, smiled slowly. “I’d be right happy to get rid of that critter for you, Mae. I have just the thing for it.”
Aunt Mae’s determined look faltered just a little, but she rallied. “You can get to it right after the dishes are done.”
Uncle Sam was true to his word. He did have just the thing for that mouse. A trap.
“Won’t that make a bit of a mess?” Mike asked. “I mean, that thing’s for a rat, and you’re only going after a mouse.”
“That’s the biggest rat trap I’ve ever seen.” said Jeff.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about boys, this here trap is just right.”
Uncle Sam set the rat trap on the counter and wouldn’t allow anyone else to help him. We stood outside the kitchen door, listening to him mutter to himself.
It took him two hours to set the trap. There’d be silence, then a rattle, then a sudden snap and a curse. When he finally came out he seemed surprised to see us all standing there.
“Uh, get the trap set, Uncle Sam?” Jeff asked.
“Course I did. No trouble at all.” He pushed by us. “I’m going to bed.”
We decided the best thing to do would be the same.
The next morning I made my way blearily to the kitchen for my morning coffee. Jeff and Mike were there already, which should have warned me.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Jeff said.
“Why not?” I glared at them. “You two drink all the coffee again?”
“Aunt Mae isn’t up yet, there’s no coffee made,” said Mike.
“You been away at college so long you forgot how to make coffee?” I put my hand on the kitchen door, but Mike stopped me.
“You don’t want to go in there.”
I looked from one to the other, finally starting to understand. I lowered my voice. “Did Uncle Sam’s trap work?”
“And how!” Jeff said. I was spared the details as Aunt Mae came bustling down the hallway.
“I don’t know what possessed me to oversleep,” she was muttering. She stopped when she saw us standing there. “What’s the matter, forget how to make your own coffee?”
“I really don’t’ feel like coffee this morning,” I said.
“Aunt Mae,” said Jeff with his winning smile, “Maybe we should go out for breakfast this morning.”
Mike was a little less subtle. “You don’t want to go in there. Uncle Sam caught the mouse.”
“It’ll take more than a dead mouse to keep me out of my own kitchen,” she said, and pushed open the door.
I never did find out how bad it was in there. Aunt Mae couldn’t have been in there for more than a few seconds before she was back, white-faced and wild-eyed. She took a couple of deep breaths and then for the first time in my life I heard her raise her voice at Uncle Sam.
“Samuel Eugene Atkinson, get down here this minute!”
Uncle Sam rushed down the stairs, bathrobe askew and shaving cream over half his face. We backed away to give him room.
“I am going out,” said Aunt Mae in a firm tone of voice. “I want every trace of that mouse removed from my kitchen before I get back.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just picked up her purse and coat, and slapped her hat on her head. She actually shuddered as she glanced at the kitchen door before leaving.
I decided that this would be a good morning to go shopping, and escaped before Uncle Sam could appeal to me for help. Even at the best of times I’m squeamish. Jeff told me later that it took the better part of the morning, with all three of them pitching in, to get Aunt Mae’s kitchen back in order. In fact, they finished just as I arrived home.
Aunt Mae didn’t arrive until lunch time. Sam greeted her cheerfully with a kiss on the cheek. We already had a pot of soup on and sandwiches made.
“Discovered a hole where that mouse of yours got into the kitchen,” Sam said. “Bet there’s more of the little critters. I’ll need to get me some more traps.”
A shudder went through Aunt Mae.
“That won’t be necessary, Sam.” She set the brown paper shopping bag she was carrying onto the floor. Out scampered a lively, orange-striped kitten. We watched as it explored every inch of the kitchen.
“What are you going to name him, Aunt Mae?” Jeff asked. He always was the brave one.
“His name is Killer.” You could see the dare in her eye as she said it.
No one even cracked a smile.
Oh, I know where it’s gone. I’ve been spending way too much time on the poem I want to submit to the anthology. I’m not used to poetry being this hard. Even that thrice-bedamned sestina wasn’t as stubborn as this poem. So far I’ve got three solid verses, and a whole slue of single lines. Good thing I have until the end of June to get it finished.
This week’s creative offering is a story I’ve been editing. Though short for a story, it makes for a rather long post. So without further ado, I give you:
Aunt Mae Gets A Cat
It was not that Aunt Mae didn’t like cats, when I was a child I never saw her without one,
it was just that she didn’t want to be thought of as one of those old women who spent their days watching soap operas and talking to their cats. Ridiculous notion really, though you couldn’t tell her that. My brothers and I knew she didn’t like the soaps, it was the game shows she was devoted to.
Aunt Mae and Uncle Sam raised my brothers and me, I was just a baby when our parents passed away. Despite that, and the fact that I was the only girl, Aunt Mae saw to it that I wasn’t spoiled in the least. Which is not to say she was overly harsh with me, I just didn’t get any extra favors.
Anyway, it was Thanksgiving. Jeff and Mike were home from college and I was taking a holiday from the insurance firm I worked for as a secretary. No sooner had we all arrived and taken our coats off than Jeff and Mike were sent outside to rake leaves and I was muffled in a large frilly apron and firmly ensconced in the kitchen.
I was just opening the oven door to check on the pies when there was a shriek behind me and the clatter of baking dishes being dropped.
“What is it?” I asked, whirling around so fast I barked my shin on the oven door.
“Close that door!” Aunt Mae demanded. She stooped down to pick up the pans she’d dropped.
“It was nothing but a mouse. Just startled me, that’s all.”
“A mouse?” I glance around the kitchen and edged closer to one of the chairs.
“A mouse. And in my kitchen too. Nervy little beggar.”
Suicidal little beggar, I thought.
The mouse wisely choose to stay hidden the rest of the day and supper went on the table with no further incidents.
“Aunt Mae has a mouse,” I announced after grace had been said and everyone had a full plate.
“A mouse?” Mike and Jeff asked at the same time.
“No fair, Aunt Mae,” Jeff said. “You wouldn’t let me have a mouse when I was a kid, how come you get one now?”
“We never had a problem with mice when Buttons was around,” Uncle Sam put in. Buttons was Aunt Mae’s tabby that died several years ago. She liked to pretend he hadn’t meant that much to her, but she refused to get another cat.
“Esther Holland has kittens,” I told her. “She stopped me on the street yesterday to see if I’d be interested in one.”
“That’s enough!” Aunt Mae never was much of one for teasing. “It’s just one pesky rodent that’s taking liberties in my kitchen.”
“You always said, where there’s one pest there’s bound to be more,” said Mike. “If the house is getting overrun with mice you’ll have to get a cat.”
“No I won’t, Sam will set a trap for it,” Aunt Mae said calmly.
My brothers and I stared at each other. Sam? As in Uncle Sam? The man who rewired a toaster and blew out the kitchen window? The man who cut the brake lines on the car when he was trying to change the oil? The man who was not let near a hedge or garden with the clippers?
Sam, at the head of the table, smiled slowly. “I’d be right happy to get rid of that critter for you, Mae. I have just the thing for it.”
Aunt Mae’s determined look faltered just a little, but she rallied. “You can get to it right after the dishes are done.”
Uncle Sam was true to his word. He did have just the thing for that mouse. A trap.
“Won’t that make a bit of a mess?” Mike asked. “I mean, that thing’s for a rat, and you’re only going after a mouse.”
“That’s the biggest rat trap I’ve ever seen.” said Jeff.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about boys, this here trap is just right.”
Uncle Sam set the rat trap on the counter and wouldn’t allow anyone else to help him. We stood outside the kitchen door, listening to him mutter to himself.
It took him two hours to set the trap. There’d be silence, then a rattle, then a sudden snap and a curse. When he finally came out he seemed surprised to see us all standing there.
“Uh, get the trap set, Uncle Sam?” Jeff asked.
“Course I did. No trouble at all.” He pushed by us. “I’m going to bed.”
We decided the best thing to do would be the same.
The next morning I made my way blearily to the kitchen for my morning coffee. Jeff and Mike were there already, which should have warned me.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Jeff said.
“Why not?” I glared at them. “You two drink all the coffee again?”
“Aunt Mae isn’t up yet, there’s no coffee made,” said Mike.
“You been away at college so long you forgot how to make coffee?” I put my hand on the kitchen door, but Mike stopped me.
“You don’t want to go in there.”
I looked from one to the other, finally starting to understand. I lowered my voice. “Did Uncle Sam’s trap work?”
“And how!” Jeff said. I was spared the details as Aunt Mae came bustling down the hallway.
“I don’t know what possessed me to oversleep,” she was muttering. She stopped when she saw us standing there. “What’s the matter, forget how to make your own coffee?”
“I really don’t’ feel like coffee this morning,” I said.
“Aunt Mae,” said Jeff with his winning smile, “Maybe we should go out for breakfast this morning.”
Mike was a little less subtle. “You don’t want to go in there. Uncle Sam caught the mouse.”
“It’ll take more than a dead mouse to keep me out of my own kitchen,” she said, and pushed open the door.
I never did find out how bad it was in there. Aunt Mae couldn’t have been in there for more than a few seconds before she was back, white-faced and wild-eyed. She took a couple of deep breaths and then for the first time in my life I heard her raise her voice at Uncle Sam.
“Samuel Eugene Atkinson, get down here this minute!”
Uncle Sam rushed down the stairs, bathrobe askew and shaving cream over half his face. We backed away to give him room.
“I am going out,” said Aunt Mae in a firm tone of voice. “I want every trace of that mouse removed from my kitchen before I get back.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just picked up her purse and coat, and slapped her hat on her head. She actually shuddered as she glanced at the kitchen door before leaving.
I decided that this would be a good morning to go shopping, and escaped before Uncle Sam could appeal to me for help. Even at the best of times I’m squeamish. Jeff told me later that it took the better part of the morning, with all three of them pitching in, to get Aunt Mae’s kitchen back in order. In fact, they finished just as I arrived home.
Aunt Mae didn’t arrive until lunch time. Sam greeted her cheerfully with a kiss on the cheek. We already had a pot of soup on and sandwiches made.
“Discovered a hole where that mouse of yours got into the kitchen,” Sam said. “Bet there’s more of the little critters. I’ll need to get me some more traps.”
A shudder went through Aunt Mae.
“That won’t be necessary, Sam.” She set the brown paper shopping bag she was carrying onto the floor. Out scampered a lively, orange-striped kitten. We watched as it explored every inch of the kitchen.
“What are you going to name him, Aunt Mae?” Jeff asked. He always was the brave one.
“His name is Killer.” You could see the dare in her eye as she said it.
No one even cracked a smile.
May 14, 2009
Editing Stuff
I found this cool little video that I just had to share. It’s a little lengthy, but it’s worth the time it takes to watch it. I just may have to search out the others in this series.
Writer Crash Test
* * * * * * * * * *
You know, if you read the same advice enough, eventually it starts sinking in. I read a short piece about opening hooks (and I can’t for the life of me remember where, otherwise I’d quote directly from the article) and I don’t know how it happened, but something finally sunk in.
That’s what’s been missing from Driving Into Forever, an opening hook. It’s all so simple, and it’s been staring me in the face all along. I’ve read this same advice hundreds of times. Start with action to pull the reader in. That’s why I changed the first prologue (one with the MC packing up after music practice) to the second prologue (where the MC is at a bachelorette party at a strip club). But the problem with both was the same. They weren’t necessary to the plot.
I scrapped both versions of the prologue from DIF and started it where is should have started in the first place, with my MC driving home in the fog. (I know that sounds just as ho hum as the other two, but this is most definitely necessary to the story). I don’t know if I’d describe it more as a light bulb appearing above me, or a Homer Simpson “D’oh!” slap to the head, but whatever it was, it worked.
That’s probably why I like the second DIF book better (I’m about 20,000 words into it). There’s no prologue. It starts with the MC’s best friend worrying about her, and then going off into danger herself.
All I can say is, “D’oh!”
Writer Crash Test
* * * * * * * * * *
You know, if you read the same advice enough, eventually it starts sinking in. I read a short piece about opening hooks (and I can’t for the life of me remember where, otherwise I’d quote directly from the article) and I don’t know how it happened, but something finally sunk in.
That’s what’s been missing from Driving Into Forever, an opening hook. It’s all so simple, and it’s been staring me in the face all along. I’ve read this same advice hundreds of times. Start with action to pull the reader in. That’s why I changed the first prologue (one with the MC packing up after music practice) to the second prologue (where the MC is at a bachelorette party at a strip club). But the problem with both was the same. They weren’t necessary to the plot.
I scrapped both versions of the prologue from DIF and started it where is should have started in the first place, with my MC driving home in the fog. (I know that sounds just as ho hum as the other two, but this is most definitely necessary to the story). I don’t know if I’d describe it more as a light bulb appearing above me, or a Homer Simpson “D’oh!” slap to the head, but whatever it was, it worked.
That’s probably why I like the second DIF book better (I’m about 20,000 words into it). There’s no prologue. It starts with the MC’s best friend worrying about her, and then going off into danger herself.
All I can say is, “D’oh!”
May 13, 2009
Whimsical Wednesday
I figure this is a good day to talk about secret identities. Batman has one, Superman has one, even I have one. Of course I’m not putting myself in the same category as a superhero, but I find the whole concept of a secret identity interesting.
Way back when the internet was young and people were using clunky dial-up modems, I was told by my daughter that I had to come up with a user-name if I was going to surf the internet. Who was I to argue with the wisdom of a thirteen-year-old. Especially one who regularly surfed to a chat room in Hawaii to talk with her friends from school.
Choosing a name was a lot harder than I thought it would be, especially trying to find a name that wasn’t already in use. Finally, the daughter suggested Nite Orchid, which was actually the title of a time shifting romance I was reading at the time. And so I became Nite Orchid. I used it as my ICQ identity (anyone remember ICQ? Is it even still around?), I used it for my e-mail address and I even created a web site. I’m sorry now that I let the site lapse. It was pretty big, with many pages linked together and had all kinds of interesting information as well as a good sampling of my writing. I learned to do html coding, and to animate gifs; I even did a lot of my own backgrounds.
Anyway, I’m getting off track here. Fast forward about ten years to my first blog called “the Long Road to (In)Sanity” and I can’t even remember where I had it listed - it wasn’t Blogspot, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t MySpace. My identity at this time was Earth Mage. I have no idea why.
When I signed up on Absolute Write, I became Lady Cat. And honestly? I have no idea why I chose that name either. I think the first couple I came up with were already being used and I was starting to panic.
My blog at that time was Earth’s Fire, to go along with the Earth Mage. Then I changed my blog to Firecat’s Lair and it’s been that ever since. That’s also my MSN identity. One of these days I’ll change my AW identity to Firecat too, but I just haven’t got around to it yet.
Confused yet? How about this: as you know, I have a list of blogs I visit on a daily basis, my own two included. My every day blog shows up about number three, while my writing blog shows up about halfway down my list. I comment as Firecat on the blogs preceding my writing blog, and as myself on the blogs following.
About now you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with Whimsical Wednesday. Okay, you were probably asking that after about the first paragraph, but now I’m ready to answer.
When the daughter and her fiancé were over for dinner last weekend, the daughter told me about this website you can go to to register your superhero identity. Seriously! So of course I had to check it out.
Just to pique your interest, I’ll even quote directly from the site:
A Real-Life Superhero must meet the following minimum criteria to be considered for the registry:
Costume: The purpose of a costume is not simply to protect the identity of the Real-Life Superhero from criminals that might seek revenge, but to make a statement both to the evil-doers that you fight against and to the world at large: you are not simply someone who happened upon crime or injustice and made an impulsive decision to intervene. You have vowed to actively fight for the betterment of humankind and to serve as an example for others. The costume of a Real-Life Superhero must be of sufficient quality to show some care went into it's creation.
Heroic Deeds: The purpose behind becoming a Real-Life Superhero must be for the benefit of mankind, and the Heroic Deeds must be of sufficient degree as to exceed normal everyday behavior. If proof of Heroic Deeds is not present, a listing may still be added to the Registry, however, it may be marked as "inactive" or "unconfirmed" in the description.
Personal Motivation: A Real-Life Superhero cannot be a paid representative of an organization, not even a benevolent one. The motivation to become a Real-Life Superhero must come from the individual: not an advertising gimmick or a public relations campaign.
Now that you know about the registration, you need a proper Real-Life Superhero name. I checked out several different generators and THIS ONE was the best pick. According to them, my superhero name is The Tartalum Kitten. Trust me, it’s much better than some of the ones the other generators came up with, like The Enigmatic Suicideette, or Fabulous Stink Ferret :-)
Avoid the rush! Register your Real-Life Superhero name today! Go HERE
Way back when the internet was young and people were using clunky dial-up modems, I was told by my daughter that I had to come up with a user-name if I was going to surf the internet. Who was I to argue with the wisdom of a thirteen-year-old. Especially one who regularly surfed to a chat room in Hawaii to talk with her friends from school.
Choosing a name was a lot harder than I thought it would be, especially trying to find a name that wasn’t already in use. Finally, the daughter suggested Nite Orchid, which was actually the title of a time shifting romance I was reading at the time. And so I became Nite Orchid. I used it as my ICQ identity (anyone remember ICQ? Is it even still around?), I used it for my e-mail address and I even created a web site. I’m sorry now that I let the site lapse. It was pretty big, with many pages linked together and had all kinds of interesting information as well as a good sampling of my writing. I learned to do html coding, and to animate gifs; I even did a lot of my own backgrounds.
Anyway, I’m getting off track here. Fast forward about ten years to my first blog called “the Long Road to (In)Sanity” and I can’t even remember where I had it listed - it wasn’t Blogspot, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t MySpace. My identity at this time was Earth Mage. I have no idea why.
When I signed up on Absolute Write, I became Lady Cat. And honestly? I have no idea why I chose that name either. I think the first couple I came up with were already being used and I was starting to panic.
My blog at that time was Earth’s Fire, to go along with the Earth Mage. Then I changed my blog to Firecat’s Lair and it’s been that ever since. That’s also my MSN identity. One of these days I’ll change my AW identity to Firecat too, but I just haven’t got around to it yet.
Confused yet? How about this: as you know, I have a list of blogs I visit on a daily basis, my own two included. My every day blog shows up about number three, while my writing blog shows up about halfway down my list. I comment as Firecat on the blogs preceding my writing blog, and as myself on the blogs following.
About now you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with Whimsical Wednesday. Okay, you were probably asking that after about the first paragraph, but now I’m ready to answer.
When the daughter and her fiancé were over for dinner last weekend, the daughter told me about this website you can go to to register your superhero identity. Seriously! So of course I had to check it out.
Just to pique your interest, I’ll even quote directly from the site:
A Real-Life Superhero must meet the following minimum criteria to be considered for the registry:
Costume: The purpose of a costume is not simply to protect the identity of the Real-Life Superhero from criminals that might seek revenge, but to make a statement both to the evil-doers that you fight against and to the world at large: you are not simply someone who happened upon crime or injustice and made an impulsive decision to intervene. You have vowed to actively fight for the betterment of humankind and to serve as an example for others. The costume of a Real-Life Superhero must be of sufficient quality to show some care went into it's creation.
Heroic Deeds: The purpose behind becoming a Real-Life Superhero must be for the benefit of mankind, and the Heroic Deeds must be of sufficient degree as to exceed normal everyday behavior. If proof of Heroic Deeds is not present, a listing may still be added to the Registry, however, it may be marked as "inactive" or "unconfirmed" in the description.
Personal Motivation: A Real-Life Superhero cannot be a paid representative of an organization, not even a benevolent one. The motivation to become a Real-Life Superhero must come from the individual: not an advertising gimmick or a public relations campaign.
Now that you know about the registration, you need a proper Real-Life Superhero name. I checked out several different generators and THIS ONE was the best pick. According to them, my superhero name is The Tartalum Kitten. Trust me, it’s much better than some of the ones the other generators came up with, like The Enigmatic Suicideette, or Fabulous Stink Ferret :-)
Avoid the rush! Register your Real-Life Superhero name today! Go HERE
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)