In the last few days, several of the A-list bloggers have posted articles, presentations, or definitions of webblogging on their sites or conference sites. Both Julie and I have discovered, for all the hoopla, that most folks out there still have not heard of blogs or don’t understand what they are.
Most of my experience of baffled folk has been in my UCLA extension creative writing classes and Julie’s has been in her class of college freshman who are not in the know. We have been surprised at this given what a great venue / medium blogging is for writers how many of them are opposed to writing online and given the perception that every 18 year old has a confession-spew blog how many young tech savvy folk don’t know what a blog is.
If you are new to blogging or tripped on this site via google or would like to enter into the dialogue / conversation, go and visit
Xeni Jardin’s, Gothamist’s, and Megnut’s for a few working definitions.
There are many different companies and online services offering weblogging to people for a low charge or for free. Of the charge services, I have heard great things about Typepad and good things about Upsaid. Of the free programs or services, I use Movable Type (MT requires your own domain, server space, and patience to install) and have used Blogger (hosted for free by Pyra Labs/Google).
I know several bloggers who use the free online service of Xanga. I un-heart Xanga. My biggest complaint as a reader of Xanga blogs is that Xanga will not allow the reader to comment without being a registered user. Lame. This is not apart of the wonderful open source spirit of MT or others, but a proprietary grab for a database of all readers of the system. Nor does this foster the dialogue and community that a well-built comment structure can for a blog.
Lucky’s, April’s, and Cezman’s – I have comments for you, some now long forgotten, but I refuse to allow Xanga to suck me into their database and become a “user” before I can comment. I am not dissing y’all for using Xanga, but am just frustrated that I can’t participate in your blog without being in the Xanga database. It will not allow me to put in my name, email, and URL before I make the comment, as with most other blogging software, but instead it insists that I sign up for the service and database. Vrrrr….
Lucky – You rock. Always.
April – Keep it up, girl.
Cezman – Good luck in February. Persevere.
As always, feel free to comment here – use your real email address if you want me to have a way to email you, or don’t if you don’t want a spam bot to find you. I don’t keep a database and I can always return your comment with a comment.
Much to my horror last night, I discovered that Movable Type will automatically send a track back ping to a blog post that I linked in one of my posts. Yes, my post-election rant and rave that included insults, swear words, and bad logic that was therapeutic for me but got track backed to JD’s New Media Musings post about the election when I linked his post to a part of mine. I apologized in JD’s comment section, cleaned up my original post, and spent most of this morning searching on the MT support forum on how to not have automatic track backs.
What I discovered is that in the “Weblog Config” section of the MT interface has a section on Track Backs, and that in that configuration section is a box that I can check to allow for “Auto-Discovery” to be on. What this means, as I found out today, is that if the box is checked (which it was), MT will take any link you put in your blog and ping the site to see if it will recognize you. All MT and TypePad Blogs that are Track Back enabled will put an exerpt of your post on the other blog automatically without you (me) realizing that has happened until it is too late to change it. That is what happened to me last night. “Heil Arh-nold. Fucker.” And all.
I must admit to being confused about Track Backing for some time. I have several times now followed the directions on how to do a Track Back to let folks at other blogs know when I have referred to their posts. But to find out that MT automatically put a track back on JD’s blog when I linked his post distressed me, mostly because I respect JD’s writing and I used the “f” and “c” words about our new Esteemed F-ing Guv’ner* in my original post.
I turned Auto-Discovery off tonight. I would rather take the 3 or so steps to manually Track Back a post rather than make an automatic ass out of my self. JD Lasica is a true gentleman and a great thinker on media old and new.
* All due respects to Skippy…
Meg and I have been having an ongoing conversation about creative writing, the web, and is blogging a new venue for writing or a new form of literature.
Short stories are naturals for electronic distribution. For starters, they’re short. Durr. More important is that they’re ephemeral. Short fiction is the cutting edge of the field, but the stories themselves usually vanish along with the current ish of the magazines in which they appear. That’s depressing as hell, but it’s also infopocalypic. I learned a lot of my form by reading and dissecting stories, and by writing them, iterating through different experiments quickly. Those stories are gone — might as well be gone forever.
I have been mulling around the idea of a series of stories that would all be centered around things I have seen and heard at Alex’s Bar and other music related adventures with the names and some details changed to protect the innocent or guilty, whichever the case may be.
I would like to periodically write down in this blog incidents that have occurred as “story starters”. If they end up in a story, then I will let you all know. Otherwise enjoy the the fragments as vignettes. I will change the names of people who I have not specifically asked their permission to use their name. Both LuLu and Alex told me to go right on ahead, but I have changed the name of the main character in the following due to the fact that I have not asked his permission yet. When I told the following incident to Steve, Barbie, and Shawn last Friday night after the “spatula” incident at Throwrag , they all thought the person in question would not care, but would welcome it.
Last Thursday, before I drove up to LA to meet Erika and Thomas at the Culver City Hall for the free Hot Club of Cowtown concert, I dropped by Alex’s to buy my Throwrag tickets. As Lulu was taking my $ and writing all the pertinent info down on the “pre-sale” list, bar regular and veteran punk “Ford” asked for the staple gun and went outside. I went out to call Wanda to ask a few questions about the tickets I was buying for her when Lulu joined me outside. After I got off the phone, Lulu pointed out the flyers for the Sunday Search and Destroy Ride that were stapled up on the wall and told me the backstory on the 20 bar bike ride.
“Ford” then drew our attention to him and just when we thought he was stapling up flyers, he took the staple gun, put it up right on his chest/sternum and shot. Yep, he stapled his t-shirt to his chest. Lulu grossed out and we both went back inside. The Search and Destroy bike ride guy was laughing.
As Lulu and I concluded the pre-sale ticket business, “Ford” came back in, came behind the bar and started rooting around. He asked LuLu if there was a flat screwdriver. There was not, only a philips-head screwdriver. Lulu was turning green, leaned across the bar, averted her eyes from “Ford” and asked me to tell her something to distract her. We started talking about cute boys.
“Ford” walked down the bar, picked up a big, long knife by the sink. He wriggled the knife under the staple, leveraged one hand on the business end of the knife, one hand on the tang and pulled the staple out. He replaced the knife and brought the bloody staple to LuLu to see. Both of us grossed out.
I stayed a bit more, but had to leave by 6pm to get to Culver City by 7pm. As I was leaving, “Ford” was sitting out with LuLu and her boy just outside the door. He said goodbye, very sweetly gave me a compliment and a hug.
“Ford’s” dropping trow on Friday after Throwrag got off stage to show us his “spatula” brands on both butt cheeks is another story for another day…
Tonight is the second to last class of Fiction I at UCLA. I have enjoyed the class immensely and have had fun with the weekly excercises and the final draft short story I turned in last week.
Many of my other stories/writing I have posted here, but I have not with the short story for this class. There are several reasons: length (the story is 5,000 words), protecting the innocent (there are a few real people in the story, I have their permission to use them, but I don’t want to abuse that trust), and I might want to try and submit it to a magazine and *if* it is accepted I don’t know if putting it up on one’s blog counts as previously published. If you would like to read it, email me and I may email you the word doc.
Tonight’s Strangeness/Humor homework assignment was to write a “How to…” in the manner of Lorrie Moore’s story, “How to Become a Writer.” Here is my attempt:
Today, Wed. July 2nd, as I was taking my bike ride to the Orange Plaza Post Office to see if I had any good mail and then to Rod’s for my daily LA Times, I watched a few of the Resident Drunks (hard core regulars) outside of Paul’s Cocktails (kitty corner to Rod’s and the Ex-Mormons for Jesus), screaming at some folks who had gotten into a car accident.
Up to this point, I had been experiencing some big time writer’s block on my 3 page story due in my Fiction I class this evening. Thanks to the drunks outside of Paul’s for providing me some fodder. I suppose that I ought to go buy them a drink…
William the Conqueror
for Jessica Heather Martin
Fly Purple Martin Fly
The only thing purple in the
chapel, besides the tint of your
Grandma Martins hair,
were the flowers in the funeral bouquets
fore and aft of your open coffin.
Fly Purple Martin Fly
Some said, after, that your wings
were first broken at twelve,
others said you had a broken picker.
Last time we saw you alive,
you told how you were leaving
him, how you were moving
back to your moms in Yorba Linda.
Excited to fly again,
you and I made plans to visit
the Getty or the Norton Simon.
Fly, Purple Martin, Fly high
your healed wings soaring
No art museum, open casket,
At the wake, in your moms small dining room,
your brother whispered,
Dont let my grandmas hear, not
today, it will upset them worse,
but she was murdered.
Fly high, Purple Martin, Fly high
On May 23, 2003
one year later, the LA Times sub paper
The Daily Pilot reported that he was found
guilty. 3 felony accounts.
Assault, spousal abuse, and
attempt to persuade a witness not to testify.
It came out in your trial
that twice before he had sent
women to the hospital by his own hand.
Fly, dip on the wing, soar
little Martin, Fly free
You got life. He gets
They couldnt prove murder
because none of the neighbors heard you cry out
as he slammed your head on the floor.
Didnt they know that little Martins with scarred wings
cant sing anymore?
— by Jenifer Hanen