It’s late at night. I have a manuscript to work on, an endorsement to finish, a blog to write, an editor to contact, my agent to hassle, a new proposal to tighten, and cover art to respond to. Oh, but I need a few minutes of diversion. Or, even better, a tidbit of artistic validation. With the tap of a key, I’m online.
Caught in the web of online services, we writers face new conveniences and never-before-dreamed-of distractions. It’s a wonderful world out there, but I wonder sometimes whether this thing serves us or whether we are, in fact, serving it.
When I speak of the Web, I think of spiders. I love ‘em. Or maybe it’s the tingle of fear they produce, particularly when discovered, oh, say, in the shower after I’ve already stepped in with nothing on. You’d think I hated the little suckers, judging by my foot-hopping and shampoo-bottle bludgeoning, but the truth is I’ve always found them fascinating–their range of sizes, shapes, colors, and poisons.
In the world of the Internet, we writers–if you’ll pardon the metaphor–find ourselves in the middle of a vast web. We have our little spidey-feet touched lightly to the strands, hoping, praying, for any slight tremble that indicates sustenance. We are lonely creatures. We wait. We have no ill-intentions, and we may be misunderstood, but all we’re after is something to keep us going for another day.
The easiest place to find this: social networking. From Facebook and MySpace, to chat rooms and blogs, we have multiple strands spun through the cyber air, stretched from homes and laptops to readers and late-night surfers. Along these strands, we can pick up all sorts of vibrations that indicate we have sustenance coming our way. Sometimes those vibes are the real deal–a word of encouragement, or a pat on the back. Other times we are teased or even tortured by the lack thereof.
I have a friend, a fellow author, whose latest title was slated for release on Halloween of last year. This friend has given me a number of reasons for the tardy manuscript. Meanwhile, Amazon has removed the title from its “preorder” status. My friend bemoans that fact, and yet every time I get online I see that my friend is logged on to a social networking site–all day, every day, commenting, posting, commenting, posting. Oh, yes, writing is being done. But not on the manuscript.
I’m trying to learn from this. I remember the days when my world as a writer was much lonelier, when I did not have the only-an-arm’s-length-away temptation of the internet. Now, I catch myself going online when I want some validation. A morsel. A scrap. Anything. One of my books mentioned in a review, or by a blogger. A write up on Amazon. An email. A “friend” on MySpace. Something to convince me it’s worth all the hard work.
Or, and here’s the most painful truth, something to keep me from doing all that hard work.
I can’t be the only lonely spider…uh, writer. I’m watching fellow artists and dreamers get caught up in the web while abandoning their discipline. I’m trying to find that balance, that precarious tightrope walk along these strands of solitude and hunger for expression. Online, there are phantom vibrations and cyber winds that tell me immediate gratification is on its way, but I’m having to train myself all over again to be still, to let patience and solitude work in me the kind of art and stories that can come no other way. I’m learning that I need to…that I…
That I gotta go. Sorry. Hate to run, but I see another “friend” just logged on.
13 Comments, Comment or Ping
Dave Wilson
It really can be frighteningly addictive. And even when you are “working” it and getting some value return, the balance is difficult. It was less of a problem back in the day when you had to actually “connect” to the Internet…but now, high speed modems, cable, DSL - it’s ALWAYS there. DING you’ve got mail.
Good topic, and important. I have actually developed an odd hitch-gait way of writing while on line…I write in flurries, and then, when I know I have to stop and think, I surf for a few minutes, then return to the work. So far, it’s working…
D
Mar 3rd, 2008
Thomas Sullivan
Love your metaphor of writers as spiders. Can’t say I’ve ever been bludgened with a shampoo bottle in someone else’s shower, but it’s a plan. I do think the unpredictable vibration of the web is much the best thing about being a writer. There are times when I’m certain that the worst of all possible lives would be boredom. But then, I’ve never actually tried it. Could be my mind would love zoning out for a while. Nah. Hmmm. 11:09 a.m. Time to go down for breakfast. Flies. Yum, yum.
– Sully
Mar 3rd, 2008
eric wilson
The scary thing about being a male spider/writer is that we know how the females take care of their mates. Fortunately, I have an awesome wife.
Mar 3rd, 2008
Brian Hodge
All this puts me in mind of the Web of Wyrd … the way the ancient Anglo-Saxons and certain other Northern European cultures viewed the whole of life as being interconnected by a vast web. A vibration emanating from any one point had the potential to touch someone else on a far distant point of the web, because all paths were possible along the strands … and Wyrd, in a simplistic nutshell, was kind of a combination of fate and trajectory based on current conditions.
Sounds kinda familiar! All we’ve done is build a hardware infrastructure for what they took for granted 1000+ years ago, but the principle is eternal: Someone squashes Sully in a Minnesota shower, and somebody else on one coast or the other writes a blog about what a great, fuzzy, 8-legged guy he was.
Then again, there seems to be a growing sense that this newer web has become too pervasive. If you google the terms “secular Sabbath” and “CommFree” you’ll find reflections on a trend among digital addicts to commit to a day a month, or a week, or even an entire weekend, of going totally unplugged: no Internet, no cell phone, no wireless PDA, etc.
Mar 3rd, 2008
Thomas Sullivan
Whadya mean Sully was? Somewhat simplistically you’ve explained how octopi evolved from spiders. You see the squashed legs were useless for spider-things, but being in a shower they were reconstituted/morphed into 8 tentacles and… Okay, okay. ‘Nough of nonsense. Secular Sabbath for spider writers. The poetic ring of truth. Going to try that, Bri. Like fasting. Only it’s going to seem like slowing.
– Sully
Mar 3rd, 2008
Dave Wilson
I could segue into the documentary we watched last night on giant squid…but…
Mar 3rd, 2008
Brian Hodge
Sorry, Sully. I shouldn’t have past-tensed you so easily. I know you have a tougher exoskeleton than that.
Mar 3rd, 2008
Janet Berliner
Methinks I have a problem. I don’t have You Tube or MySpace. Don’t do chats. I just write, research, play an occasional game of Scrabulous, and correspond with friends. How do I deal with this dire problem?
–J
Mar 3rd, 2008
Eric Wilson
I bet you get a lot done. That’s a problem more writers should have. J
Mar 3rd, 2008
John B. Rosenman
How DARE you imply that I’m a spider with a monkey on my back scuttling across the web?
How’s THAT for a rotten mixed metaphor? Now look here, I’m not an addict who’s been hooked by the web. I can do without it any time I want.
Good, provocative essay. I sometimes joke that I’m addicted to my e-mail, that when I come home from a trip (I refuse to get a laptop), that the first thing I want to do is not kiss my wife and say hi, but check my e-mail. That fits in with what you say.
Also, addiction to internet porn is becoming a hot topic. Uh, let me rephrase that. It’s becoming a much discussed topic. I tell you, this Internet thing is insidious.
You know, about a hundred years ago, the author of Passage to India suggested this basic addiction in a novelette or story called “The Machine Stops.” What happened when the machine stopped? Well, gosh, folks didn’t have an electronic tit to suck on anymore and had to cope directly with reality and face to face encounters. The horror!
BTW, did anyone notice that the Speculations site died or went defunct today? I feel like I’ve lost a member of the family. It was certainly more real to me than some people I’ve met.
Mar 3rd, 2008
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