Raw

Social Media Slander

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How many social websites are you logged into? Three? Four? Ten?

Why?

Well, this one is for work references, and this one is for family and friends. This one I enjoy for the recipes, while this one inspires my creativity…

I recently deleted my Facebook account. No, I didn’t simply deactivate it to take a break. I deleted my account permanently. After fourteen days, I won’t be able to log in. After ninety, Facebook will diligently delete all the pictures, posts, and messages that have accumulated over the eleven years I’ve had Facebook. It’s been eight days now, and I can say I don’t miss it. I really don’t. I’m having these annoying withdrawal effects (oh yeah, don’t think those don’t come.) My thoughts are geared for status posts. Every picture I take makes me wonder who will “like” it and whether they’ll comment.

I have had every friend tell me, “You need to Snapchat with me!”, “Follow me on Instagram!”, “Are you on Twitter?” But every friend has a different social interest, and they have at least four that they frequent.

Listen. These are all great, fine, and dandy. There’s something for everyone! And now people are slipping through the cracks because half of their friends are over here and the other half are over there. I got an Instagram recently just to follow the Bristol Renaissance Faire. I don’t actually like Instagram. I think it’s dumb. Facebook was so much better, but Facebook is gone. I also have a Twitter, and I usually use that to keep updates of my books. That’s what Twitter is for. Short and sweet updates. Listen, friends, my social media of choice is e-mail. Do you remember email? Right now it’s probably a spam bucket for all your media pages, but there was a time not so long ago when friends and family would write lengthy letters–including pictures!–to update you. It was glorious. Faster than mail by post, but just as nice. I love my email account, and I would love it if you emailed me. If not, well, I’ll see you on Twitter.

Facelessbook,

Fanny T Crispin

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It’s a Dirty Job, and You Rock for Doing It

Passing down the values of work ethic.

In Case of Fire, Use Stairs

My dad is a complicated man that I don’t write about much, in part because it takes a lifetime to figure out our relationship with our family, and in part to respect his privacy. However, I know one thing. My dad works. He works long. He works hard. And working and providing is his means of showing love and commitment to a family.

For as long as I can remember, my dad has worked what’s most often called a blue collar job: as a machinist at a factory. He works 12 hour shifts, and is on his feet the majority of that time. He looks at work as  a necessary part of life, where enjoyment is not a requirement. For my dad, work has always been borne out of necessity and social and familial obligations. And without people doing jobs like his, our factories could not run, and some of…

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Raw

“Your Story” – A Neat Piece of Internet

Often Clueless, Always Shoeless

Last year, Alex of the delightful blog Valourborncame up with a lovely idea called ‘Your Story.’ The blog is in constant exploration of great heroic tales of fantasy and fiction, but for this section of the blog, she called for real stories, inviting people to share some aspect of their own personal adventure in whatever way seemed best to them.

I loved this feature. You can take a look at some of the stories Hereif you’re curious. The stories were just so honest and from the heart, and I absolutely loved seeing these glimpses into other lives.

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