My father purchased my first computer when I was about 14 or 15 years old, and the unmistakable sound of dial-up still holds fond memories for me. We didn’t have a computer class in school as such; we would go to the computer lab for one hour each Friday and play games like Wheel of Fortune and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? When I got into high school, we played Oregon Trail and SimFarm. At the time, I remember thinking how utterly silly it was that as computer technology was on the rise, we were putting our learning time to use by playing games. Now I think I see what our teachers were doing; they were using games to help us get familiar and comfortable with computers.
I, however, needed little prompting. To this day I hold the firm belief that there is nothing I can do to a computer that is so bad that it can’t be fixed (by someone else, of course), and so I would open programs and click on every button just to see what would happen. I remember downloading tons of pictures of X-Men and everything else comic book related I could find. I remember when Stan Lee launched his web comics (I think it was 7th Portal, but alas, not being able to actually see it, it doesn't stick out in my mind; my dial-up was too slow to process them), and I first began hearing about DSL and high speed internet. I would spend hours on the computer everyday talking with my friends on AIM and how delighted I was every time I heard “You’ve Got Mail.” I considered myself internet savvy, and although I was never skilled enough to hack someone else’s computer or anything like that, I really felt that I knew my way around.
Somewhere along the way that changed. I’m not sure when it happened, but I suspect it was a long process. Many parents tell their children to get off of the computer because they’re not “out there” living life to the fullest. As I look back on how many hours I used to spend on the internet, I have no regrets (but consider that I lived in a super tiny town where absolutely nothing ever happened). I made friends online back in the day, but we’ve lost touch now. And when I look over my Facebook page, I realize that there is not one single person in my list of friends that is not someone I already know “in the real world.” Some people may believe that you can’t really form friends with people that you have never seen, but that’s not true. What makes a friend is someone that you have shared experience and emotion with, someone you share ideas with and someone you can safely confide in. There is nothing about a computer or the internet that prevents such an event from occurring.
I believe that human beings are explorers at the very core of their being, and I realize now that I have spent most of my computer time writing papers, doing research for classes, and checking email. After I complete those “tasks,” I log off, but the internet is a whole huge world out there, and I am ready to discover its secrets like Cousteau explored the (real) ocean and Captain Kirk explored (I really hope it's real) space. But I want to do more than that, too; I want to add my two cents in, but that’s going to take a lot of practice. The only kind of writing I’ve been doing for the last few years is academic writing, but it’s time for me to put that behind me as I look for a new job and start to reinvent myself into the person that I want to be.
But who do I want to be? Do I want to be a teacher? That’s what I have been doing the last few years, and while I find it immensely rewarding, I’m not sure that is who I am. Do I want to be a writer? I think so, but I also think that I’m not so good at it. I am choosing to believe the old adage that “practice makes perfect.” The more you do a thing, the better you get at it. Like any good scientist, let’s put that to the test!
Pete J. DeGloma
ReplyDeleteCOMMENT: intended for yesterday's blog
Candyce,
I think you are a good writer, and I agree that practice makes perfect. I once wrote the beginning of a novel, and after only 45 pages I had to stop. The plot was not well thought out from the beginning; I was winging it. I couldn't think of a new direction for the plot, and I didn't want to change what I had already written. So, I stopped. Years later I stumbled upon it. I began reading it through the cracks of my fingers because I suspected it was horrible. Although my suspicions were confirmed in many ways, every once in a while I would find a part that was really good. The point is that we are our own best critics. To me any art form is a double-edged sword. I look to art as a form of self-expression rather than self-validation. Yet, I also want it to be well received. In my experience, I can seldom acheive both. This breaks the definition of successful writing (in the case at hand) into two categories. Have I been succesful as an artist? And, have I been a success as a writer? Most importantly, how can I improve upon the latter without diluting the former?
I'm not sure why it won't post your comments, Pete, but I copied and pasted it above.
ReplyDeleteI completely agree with you that we are our own best critics, but only if we have the capacity for self-knowledge that allows us at least some objectivity. I don't know how much objectivity is truly possible with something that is so subjective, but unless we are aware of who we are and our place in the world, whether it was decided for us or whether we get to carve it out, I don't know how much we can truly understand about even our own creations.
My work sometimes gets away from me, and it makes me think, "who's really in charge here?"