This morning (after the storm, the power outage, starting dishes and laundry) I took an ACLU sponsored quiz on online privacy. At the end, I was informed that online, I’m as recognizable as Jackie O.
I love Jackie.
* * * *
I’ve had internet access for 14 years. My domain name, wvcottages.com, has been registered to me for 12 years. I’ve been connected through dial-up (RURAL dial-up at that), a T-1 line, broadband and DSL. I’ve designed over 40 web sites, and this is my fifth blog.
I have a facebook profile, and a facebook page. I have a twitter account, a linked in account, an eBay account, an Amazon account, an estsy account, cafepress account, and many more.
I have seven different email accounts.
I buy ink online. Clothes, paper supplies, envelopes, online. I rent movies online, watch movies online, watch the news and the weather — online.
We haven’t had television service since 2001.
I’m in the media business, in the middle of West Virginia and the combination of my location and my inability (or unwillingness) to keep up — I’m considered “outdated”.
Even so, apparently I’m a virtual Jackie O.
I find it difficult to believe, and yet — writers are rarely truly aware of their audience. My picture and words are seen by at least 50,000 people a month — in Two-Lane Livin’ Magazine, on the Hur Herald, on facebook, on this blog. I think the reason I’m such a facebook addict is because of the feedback and interaction. People “like” my comments, and comment in return.
Even so, I notice strange “celebrity-type” situations that sometimes trip me up.
For example:
I went to an hour-away part store last week to order a part for one of our vehicles. When time came to record who the part was for when it arrived, the clerk wrote down my name without asking. I must have had a strange look on my face because he said, “I see your face in the magazine every month.”
Another time, I stopped at an out of county road-side stand to buy some produce. There were two men working the booth, but only one stood at the table, the other was over the bank picking up trash. During our conversation and transaction, the man at the table kept saying, “I know you from somewhere.” We tried to think of social situations where we might have met before. Just then, the other man returned from over the hill, looked up at me and said, “You’re the Two-Lane Lady!” The first man said, “That’s it! That’s where I’ve seen you before!”
When I was a county reporter, these things happened often inside that county, and most often with people who at least had a face I recognized. But I find it a little surprising when I’m recognized by strangers, two counties away.
Some aspiring writers are told that everything that could be written about HAS been written about already, and in a much better form than we could ever aspire to create. And yet, the trick is that writers are to express a truth, a common human thread from their own unique perspective.
Good writers are considered good because of their ability to strike that common chord with their readers, because of their ability to express a truth in a way that highlights it for others.
But how much truth do you share? How much truth do readers want? How much truth does the ACLU say is safe? What non-fiction truths are for the public, and what private truths should be expressed through fiction only?
These days, more and more it seems that truth is irrelevant. Every on-screen word, every on-screen image is a facade, a filtered image of truth, where shadows have been removed and only the light show presentation is permitted to shine through. It is fiction, based in truth, but fiction nevertheless.
What image do you have of me sitting here and typing this? Are you picturing Jackie O? Are you picturing a casually dressed, professional woman clicking away at social marketing? Or, are you picturing a woman in a nightgown, with a tangled pony tail, dirt under her fingernails and dark circles under her eyes?
For sure, I’ll have you picture ole’ Jackie as opposed to the truth.
When you read anything, you should consider more than just the story. Consider the source, consider their purpose or agenda, consider tone and level of respect for you, the audience that is the purpose of our scribing. Is the purpose to educate you? Inform you? Persuade you? Manipulate you?
Maybe even just detain you to misdirect your attention?
I learn a lot when I read. I learn about the topic yes, but I also learn about the writer. I learn about the points that are important to them, about their research skills, their writing style, their attitude, their ability to twist and turn words to their advantage, or ability to let the words flow without getting tainted too much by their own character flaws. I learn what the writer wants, and what the writer wants of me.
We all do this in some way. When you read something, a connection is made between you and the writer. That’s why when I introduce myself to people and give my name, they often smile brightly and say, “Two-Lane Livin’.” But until some reader says something to the writer, there is no easy way to know for sure if you have made any connection at all.
Then of course, when you expose the truths of your world and your mind, there are also connections you question and examine further, not all of them considered by the ACLU — the government, the occasional angry letter about a seemingly innocent post, the occasional complimentary note from a reader that makes you again wonder…. What it was that made the connection enough for a pen, paper, envelope, stamp, and trip to the mailbox?
I don’t know what I did to make that indecipherable connection between me and Calpatty Press three years ago. (See previous post if you are confused.) It’s really hard to tell such things when you don’t even know who they are – screen names, tag-team writers, comments by fictitious readers… Never the less, the connection was made, and I fed them any information I had concerning our common enemy, Todd Smith (aka Hot Toddy, scum-bag now in jail). It seems in doing so, I shook hands with the devil, and we’ve somehow been virtually dancing ever since.
There are times in your life when you ask yourself, “How did I get in this situation?” Naturally, that question isn’t the main point to dwell on, although it seems we all linger on that a little too long. The question most important at those times is, “How do I get out?”
I don’t know how many of their readers believe I am (or was) one of CalPatty’s “Secret Seven.” I don’t know how many readers believed anything they wrote — about me, about others, about themselves. But I do know, that for three years, they have been dominating our region’s online image — our communal online presentation of our community’s truth. Our community’s virtual image has been under the patina of their slanted perspective so that none of us, online or in real life, weren’t soured by it in some way.
This morning, CalPatty Press was offline. According to Wordpress.com, their host server, their blog has been “archived or suspended for a violation of Terms of Service.” I am sure they will attempt to shift their readership over to a sister site, but as far as having the lead in search engines and amount of information online about our county (counties), this has been a critical blow.
I don’t believe I deserve (or want) any credit for this victory.
I am not a Virtual Jackie O. I’m just a writer in my pajamas, drinking cold coffee, with garden dirt under my fingernails and a tangled pony tail.
My meager attempts to “make it stop” failed early last week when CalPatty was only temporarily frozen. I don’t know if I started a ball rolling, or if attempts from others further slandered on their site than I finally came to fruition. I don’t know if some other person, out there somewhere had the muscle to remove this mountain. I only know that two days ago I was feeling rather deflated about it, disappointed, disgruntled.
Oh, how I hate to lose. And in my attempt to win, I had made things worse. I had done all I knew to do – - and failed.
And so, as so many of us do when we have exhausted all other options… I troubled the Almighty.
(Something I try not to do unless it’s really, really important.)
“Lord, just make it gone.”
Twice I asked; on Sunday evening, and again on Monday evening.
This morning, at 5 a.m. CalPatty Press was still there. Then, there was a clap of thunder that shook the house and took out the power, followed by a really scary electrical storm.
When the power came back on – CalPatty Press was gone.
My communication with Wordpress could not have been the only complaint about the site. Mine could not have been the only prayer request concerning it, nor could mine have been the first in three years. I would not presume my words or my prayers to be any more important than anyone else’s.
But, because I so rarely ask His help, and because my prayers were answered, I am compelled to give credit where I believe it is due.
Amen. Thank-you, God!
