How to DISAPPEAR FROM THE INTERNET

 

About six months ago, a digital security expert writing for the New York Times made a valiant attempt to “disappear from the Internet.”

It failed.

 

I faintly recall my first internet venture, a modest page on Facebook created so I can see what my kids, who preceded me with Facebook pages, were posting.

That was a fail on two fronts. When the parents arrived, the kids left or learned to hide posts from any who weren’t on special lists, gratis of Facebook's cleverness. It was also a fail on a second front for the first five years, because I never looked at my empty page and thus ignored genuine friend requests from people who are real life friends and did use Facebook. Some of them might have felt rejected, as my daughter later pointed out the tiny check on the Friend Request button. “Really, Mom,” she said.

 

But, with that modest inaugural arrival, my name was on the internet along with Facebook frenetic data collection.

 

Once I had a book contracted, I also had a website, and when the book was published, I went into high gear to open accounts on anything and everything the publishing mavens said were “musts.”

The awkwardness of it all, the feeling of vulnerability, gave way to modern demands to be there or be less than a tiny square.

 

There are many reasons to want to get off the digital deck and disappear from the Internet. If you are a target of sophisticated fortune hunters (this applies to individuals of great fortunes) or have controversy attached to you that brings out the nastiest among our race, you may wish you could erase your digital presence.

 

There should be a way to do it. A service calling itself DELETE ME claims they can and will, for a fee, do it for you. The New York Times reporter says they sort of do, but not really.

 

I don’t feel good about the lack of choice, but like the Serenity Prayer says, “I accept the things I cannot change.”

 

Unless laws come in, and with them real life enforcement and consequences for violators, the Internet has us where it wants us, whether we like it or not. I’d add another line to the prayer: “Please don’t put me in a position where I will need to hide.” 

This, because there is no longer a place to do so.

The Faulty Concept of WRITERS’ RETREATS

 

Years ago, I was asked by a good friend (not a writer or artist) if I had a writing retreat I go to in order to, what else, write.

 

I laughed because this was not in the budget and in no way part of my lifestyle. I was a mother of young children who were never in daycare or even had a babysitter. There was no place for sequestering on a retreat, period.

 

There still isn’t. I write where I live. I write from my real life. My creative life is part of my daily life. The very notion of retreats is to separate from one’s life/work/dear ones, and to dis-connect. Un-connect. It’s about disrupting connectivity.

 

I don’t get it, and likely never will.

 

I chuck it to romantic notions emanating from another age. Today, these so-called retreats are commercial enterprises and, frankly, an abuse of true creative reality. There’s a whole industry of these retreats and it’s booming.

 

If you want to take a break from the hustle-bustle, by all means do. Call it a vacation. Call it a break. Let’s not wrap breaking from real life a “creative retreat.”

 

I’d love a nice vacation. If I go, I will not be writing but reclining and sipping a delicious beverage with my feet up.

 

Writing is real work.

Why “ASPIRING” Should be Struck from Our Self-definition

 

I’ve blogged about this before, but the thorny matter of artists calling themselves “aspiring artist/musician/writer” continues to sting.

 

This post here reminded me, again, of the faux diminution of this word.

 

If you would like to do something but aren’t doing it (yet, or ever), then you “aspire” to do or be it.

 

If you are doing it, you are not an aspirant. If you write, you are a writer. If you paint, you are a painter. If you compose music, you are a composer. Perhaps you aspire to have commercial or financial success and haven’t (yet or ever) achieved it. But you are not aspiring to be what you are already.

 

Just do it. Once you do, you are.

*THE END*