Airbag

At the end of each week, I have a widget thingummy that gets fired up, which lets the obsessive in me know who’d jumped the Twitter ship in the last seven days. This is important to me for several reason, mostly because this isn’t about maintaining a healthy follower count. I am ready to interact with every single person followed: the reality, of course, is that most people don’t want that. They’re here for other, nebulously uncategorisable ends. For me however, interacting with people is what this is all about.

Social media, remember?

Once upon a time the people who’d left would be paid scant attention, unless of course we’d interacted and then suddenly, without warning, that person simply left, normally with me still following them. This is bad form. You want to keep me as a follower, but not listen to me talk. Mute is no longer enough for you, it is time to remove me from your sphere, but without having to sacrifice that vital +1 I provide. That’s why people who do this now (and it’s obvious as to why as it was today) are instantly blocked, because two can play at that game.

funnysexysmile

It’s also increasingly apparent who is just using their Twitter for self promotion, that when you speak to them you are met with inevitable silence. The more you interact with real, honest individuals via the platform, the more obvious it becomes who really is listening, and that’s absolutely crucial going forward. There are changes already making waves in my timeline, curation and management approaches that will blow wide apart how it is that some exploit this medium whilst others attempt to nurture it.

The man behind the curtain might be fooling some of the people, but crucially not all of them, and the more that is opened to critical appraisal, the less likely it will be that you’ll be able to get away with anything for too long. I’ve counted three authors this week who have highlighted that other people are more than willing to duplicate their work without permission. This is neither big nor clever, and yet it keeps happening. I’ve had my work scraped at least once in current memory. Eventually, people will start calling you out.

notdoingthatagain

Eventually, the real people are very easy to spot, and those who only turn up to further their own ends… well, they become even more apparent. With over 200k’s worth of tweets, I’m absolutely here for the long haul. It won’t be long until someone starts dragging up stuff from years ago to prove what a twat I can be and guess what? I am sometimes, just like everybody else. However, if you are going to treat me just as a follower and not a friend? Yeah, you can expect short shrift when you decide to fuck it up.

Sometimes, you don’t just walk away.

Timebomb Zone

Day 4: Wow, that’s a two hours I never want to repeat again. I’m utterly with Duncan Jones: kids are hard work. I know, they didn’t ask to be born and you were the one who make the choice [and therefore accept the responsibility], but BOY some days is it tough. Anxiety-producing, pain inflicting, nerve shreddingly tough. If the sun was out and the country hadn’t just imploded, it would be easier. Today therefore is penance, and I’m surprisingly okay with that.

The Next Chapter Bar

There’s a significant fork in the road up ahead. Watching my husband cycle last night, his level of fitness is a reminder that if things matter enough, you will find a way. I don’t eat badly, exercise more than has ever been the case before and slowly, so very slowly, improvement is coming. It is on days like today when I’m mentally wiped that those gains matter so much more. Pushing beyond comfort zones might not be the answer for some, but for me there are days when if I don’t, the consequences can be catastrophic.

I should have started this particular journey with more vigour about 20 years ago.

The Next Chapter Bar

Decided to enter a book contest with the manuscript that keeps getting rejected. It’s really good, deeply personal and largely autobiographical, and I know full well why nobody I’ve sent it to thus far has shown the slightest bit of interest. So, if it gets rejected AGAIN it doesn’t get rewritten a third time. It stays this way, and we look for specialist publishers to send it to, and if that fails I fucking publish it myself, because sometimes it isn’t about compromise. Sometimes, what matters most is the idea, as you wrote it, not how someone else wants you to tell the story.

Occasionally you don’t write in the hope someone else validates you. You need to validate yourself.

Freedom ’90

Life is funny.

If you ask me what has gotten me here, in 52 years of existence, I’m betting only a very few would know the part Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepherd had to play in that process. Moonlighting was an almost vital part of my late teens, and although it is fair to say it has not aged well, its part in my mid 1980’s life was… well, indispensable. This song, and the Billy Joel album it comes from, had been lost from my memory until first thing this morning. Suddenly, it demands another listen.

The lyrics to this song are amazingly apposite as a metaphor for myself.

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When I got to Mulberry Street for the first time the significance of past to present didn’t really register. It’s taken all this intervening time, with exercise and writing, to grasp that an awful lot of my past has been suppressed. The reasoning behind this isn’t a massive surprise, and isn’t the point of this post. I’m here this morning safe in the knowledge that I don’t need to panic. Hard work is it’s own reward, that’s not just one of those stupid things people say because they can’t get the critical notoriety so craved.

Yes, you can change your life to suit your soul’s desire.

I’m also amazed that after thirty two years of not hearing an album the words to every track exist with perfect recall, but I can’t remember the names of any of the people I studied with at either school or college. How exactly does that work?