Revision of Crappy First Draft

It took me several weeks and I stopped counting how many drafts to come up with the first revision of my crappy first draft. (See previous post.) I finally realized that even though I put all that effort into it and lengthened it from six pages to thirty-three, it is still just that: a revision, a slightly less crappy second draft. It was not encouraging to me when the teacher said that sometimes you have to write something forty times to get one good paragraph. I figure if I have to do that, I don't have much of an idea of what I want to write about or how I want to say it. Maybe instead of putting all that time and energy into one paragraph, I ought to start over completely. I know what my teacher was saying and I don't really disagree with her, but I hope she doesn't mean that I have to write that much for every good paragraph.
Sometimes I end up with a paragraph that is so good it stands by itself and then what do I do with it? Almost every revision has something worth saving, but what do I do when I end up with parts worth saving from several revisions and they don't fit together?
Another issue: how about length in non-fiction, essays, etc.? My teacher also said that most journals want essays that are around 15-25 pages long. I've always written short essays so that figure seems daunting. What is really daunting about it is that you have to be a helluva writer to keep someone reading for 15-25 pages. But what choice do I have? I have to keep trying. Quantity and quality.

Crappy First Draft

I just wrote the crappiest first draft* that I believe I have ever written, which is upsetting enough, but I handed it in as an assignment, which is humiliating. This is for a workshop class. Everyone was really kind in their comments, which at first I thought was encouraging, but then when I heard how kind they were about someone else's draft that was incomprehensible, I got nervous. Now I'm convinced that mine was almost as bad. It was comprehensible, but being so, it was easier for a reader to tell that it was an awful essay. The only thing it had going for it was my writing style, which made it easy to read (if not understand). If I ever get it cleaned up (which I have to do for a decent grade, God help me), I might put it up here, but I doubt it. It will be too long, for one thing. It'll have to be because of all the weaknesses I have to strengthen by expanding a comment here, creating a "scene" there. (The kind that brings vitality to one's writing, not that which I feel like doing).
Off to the writing board. Gulp.

*I owe this to Anne Lamott in her book Bird by Bird, only she was more vivid in her description. She has saved my sanity by writing, "Everyone should write a [crappy] first draft." Well, I've certainly done that.

Miteypen Types

I travel the net as miteypen and have ever since I got my first computer (and my first Internet account) in 1996. I actually had a (so-called) business named "The Mighty Pen," but there are so many references to the mighty pen out there (and not just in cyberspace), that I decided to rename it "miteypen" and be done with it. Miteypen is easier to type, too, and not just because it's shorter. I hate having to type words with "gh" in them. For instance, Light, Might and even words like Through and Although. There are more difficult words to type--the worst I've run across for its length being Egypt. There is a "yp" in miteypen but no "g" so I can live with that.

I may seem to be picky, but the way I type (there's another one), I have to be. I am not a "hunt-and-pecker" (now that didn't come out right), but I am a "looker" (neither did that). That is, for the most part I don't have to hunt for keys one by one and then peck at them (although I have yet to achieve proficiency with the numbers and anything around the edges) but I do have to look an awful lot, if not at the keyboard, then at the screen. I suppose most people look at the screen, but I am one who shouldn't. I do my best typing when I stare off into space and try to visualize the keyboard. I make mistakes whenI don't have my fingers in the right position to start with (which happens a lot) or when I don't reach far enough so that words come out like this: cisualise, finders, but the average spell-checker can usually handle mistakes like that. (I just tried it and I was wrong: cisualize stumped it completely and it skipped right over finders. Oh, what did we ever do without spell-checkers?)

Why is this interesting? It's not really, except in the sense that most writers struggle at least at first with this problem. I am much faster than I used to be, but I could never get a job as a secretary. But then I don't want one, so that works out okay. It would be nice, though, if I could type more quickly (words with "q" in them are also a pain).

I have experimented with talk and type programs (where the computer types for you as you speak--and electronic dictaphone, so to speak), but so far haven't found one that was easy to use. You usually have to train them to recognize your voice, accent and all. And that can take some time, depending on the software. One I found that works really well is called WYNN, but it costs around a thousand dollars (and does a lot of other things, too), so I guess I'll bumble on the way I've been going. If and when I find a good program, I'll let you know.

Anything to make word processing more "processible." (See a coming post about making up words.)

Becoming A Writer

It has taken two years for me to finally get to the point: that this is a writer's blog. I've been using this space like a journal, meaning that it has only been interesting to me. So what's the difference now?

I've been telling myself that I'm a writer for years. I found that I had to do that: tell myself over and over that I do qualify. And how do I know that? It's not as if I have very much published--and when I first starting announcing my "writerhood" I hadn't published anything. Part of my motivation was psychological. I figured if I called myself a writer long enough, I might actually come to believe that I am. It worked, to a degree. But there is no such thing as suddenly becoming anything, from one's work identity to one's gender. (Seriously. Think about it. Have you always known exactly what it means for you to be the sex you are, let alone how to act like it?) And the worst (or best) part is that the process is never complete. I suspect I'll be talking myself into believing that I'm a writer--among other things-- until the day I die.

Two things have made the process speed up for me in the past two years. One has been going back to school and the other has been taking writing courses (I'm now on my second one.) Just being in school means that you're going to be writing, and the better your writing, the better your grade (assuming that you know what you're writing about). I've had to sweat buckets trying to improve especially the clarity of my writing. Philosophical musings (otherwise know as bullsh**ing) don't impress teachers who just want to see that you've "mastered" the information. Damn!

Ironically enough, choosing history as a major may well have caused my writing to improve more than English/Creative Writing would have. It can be much harder to write about history in an interesting way than to write about many other fields in the humanities. At least I've found that to be the case. But having to do so has sharpened my writing ability and that has carried over into my creative writing (I hope).

In a way, I'm glad I didn't take a writing class until after I'd improved my writing of history. Yet I can see now that I needed to take a writing class at some point to learn something else about myself: that other writers think I'm a writer. They may be a writer's harshest critics, but it's good to know that their standards are the same ones you want to meet and that you feel you must meet in order to feel like a real writer.

It could be that the writing course, besides teaching me more about how to write, has also served as a way to encourage me. A's and B's in history don't necessarily tell me that I am a Writer. Sometimes my good writing isn't even recognized (although I admit that it was a thrill to have one teacher tell me that my writing was "clear, concise and almost lyrical"). But there's something special about another writer telling you that your work is good. And I have a feeling that I will never stop needing that kind of encouragement.

I have never sought it out before. I've never joined a writing group (online or in "real" life) and it has only been in the past year that I've exposed myself to other writers' scrutiny. Since I figure that they would be hardest on my writing than anyone else (which is probably the main reason I never subjected myself to the experience before), it means all that much more when they praise it. It doesn't even have to be effusive praise!

The bottom line is, however, that the only fool-proof way to become a writer is to write. A lot. Which is why I'm here right now, spilling my thoughts (guts?) on the Internet. I doubt that anyone else will ever read them, but it does me a lot of good to write as if I think someone will. After all, you never know...

Writing About Ourselves: Up Close and Personal

What about writing about ourselves? How personal do we want to get? What is the fall-out if we do?

These questions are almost a moot point for me: it seems that I just naturally spill my guts. My writing often reveals more about myself than I would be comfortable telling an acquaintance or a casual friend. So why am I willing to share my secrets with total strangers?

I don't think I'm alone in this. What makes us bare our souls in print where anyone can read it when we would be extremely hesitant to do so in any other context? As for me, when I write, I reveal; I can't seem to help it. It's as if the pen or keyboard is a confessional or a psychiatrist's couch. Want to know how many times I've been married, what my social class and income are, whether I believe in God, the mistakes I've made (and paid for)? Just hang around and keep on reading and you will eventually know me better than my own parents or children do.

But is it wise to be so revealing? What does it cost us emotionally and socially? Do readers really want to know about our inner demons and private joys or will they get tired of hearing more than they want to know about us?

Of course it depends upon what we're writing and the context in which we're being read. But I have a theory that people are willing and even eager to learn what makes a writer tick. Writing is a mysterious act, even to writers. Some readers feel that writers are bigger than life and more than human. (There are many more who think that anyone could write if they wanted to, so what's the big deal?) The words seem to float in space, in some kind of intellectual miasma, where only the writers really know what they mean or why what they have to say should matter. To some, personal essays are as difficult to access as poetry: not knowing where the writer comes from makes it almost impossible for the reader to understand what the writer wants to say. And yet, if we are not willing to reveal something of ourselves in our writing, our words may never connect with our readers.

But to what extent and at what cost? That depends on the writer. I recently wrote a piece that was quite explicit about a chronic problem I have (no, I'm not going to reveal it here, or at least not now). In fact, it was more revealing than was probably appropriate considering the topic and context. (It was the first assignment in a creative nonfiction writing course.} I dashed mine off pretty quickly (two revisions, and that was mainly to cut down the length), but was left with emotional fall-out to the point where I was afraid that I would get emotional when I read it out loud (in other words, cry). I should have thought of that when I wrote the piece, should have made sure I kept it lighter and less personal. But maybe what I wrote was what I needed to reveal, and not trusting my instincts kept me from sharing it with people with whom I'm going to be working closely over the next three months. (I skipped the class.)

I don't exactly regret that I missed this opportunity; I know there will be others. What concerned me the most was the way I was affected by what I wrote. All that day and the next I was emotionally raw and exhausted. And that was over a simple little writing exercise. Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to be able to keep this up. Other times I know that I have no choice.

Snow for Christmas

10 degrees or below. Two hours to chip the ice off the car. Downed trees and power lines. No power, no heat; thankfully that isn't true for us. But it has meant that one of my daughters spent the day here and the other the night and that's on top of the fact that we've had my grandson here for two days because his mother has to work. Now my third daughter wants me to go over and help her sort through the last of her "stuff," because she and her boyfriend are moving across country on Monday. They've already brought a lot of things to the house, some of which belongs to my daughter in S. Korea, who won't be back until June, and some of which is for the daughter who would have already begun to move into her own apartment if it hadn't been for the storm. Tonight is Christmas Eve and I was elected to have Christmas dinner here tomorrow and I'm not good at not having any time to myself, let alone privacy. I haven't even had a shower for two days.

But it could be so much worse. I could have a son or daughter in Iraq. One of my friends called me yesterday - one I haven't spoken or written to for years (she was responding to a Christmas letter I sent out) - and she told me that her son was in Iraq for 11 months and has to go back. She said she was a mess while he was there. I can't even imagine what kind of shape I'd be in. I'm very very thankful I don't have to deal with that.

Even so, that doesn't mean that I'm looking forward to the next couple of days, and that's sad considering that it's Christmas. I haven't even wrapped presents and don't know exactly when I'll get the chance. At least my grandson will be picked up by his mother this afternoon. He's been so good and I love having him around, but I'm being expected to deal with about two too many things today.

I'm not freaking, though; not anxious or overly depressed. I'm not jumping up and down with joy, but I'm trying to accept the situation, including the way I'm responding to it. Instead of getting down on myself because I'm not cheerful, I need to be relieved that I'm not losing it. I'm just taking everything in a very low key way; that seems to work best for me right now. Being jolly is not a requirement; being aware of how blessed I am is is what it's supposed to be all about anyway.

What does this all have to do with writing? Everything, of course. Because everything boils down to whether or not I get to write. The most I've accomplished in the past few days has been a journal entry yesterday and now this. I had hoped that I could finish my incomplete in History while I was on vacation, but I see now that I should have known better.

Before I sign off, I just want to mention a strange development: I can't seem to get any satisfaction out of reading. I don't particularly want to and when I try to, I can't find anything that satisfies me. I don't know whether that's just a response to the stress or something that has actually changed for me, but it definitely makes me feel at a loss. But again, maybe I should be glad that I'm not dying to read right now or I'd be going out of my mind.

I have to get ready to go help my daughter. I'm taking my grandson with me. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Delayed Introduction

I have another blog, "Family Matters" (I mean to change that title--bor-ing!) in which I could (or might copy) this post, but I'd like to turn "Mighty Pen" into my primary Blog, so I'm going to start using it first in most cases. I don't do well with too many choices--I become paralyzed, as a matter of fact, which is why I rarely write in any of them. Also, I'm still stuck in the days when it was fashionable to create a web page, but I guess now the thing is to blog, with much the same result, only it's much easier. I hope that's true, because I never seemed to get a web page published, and like many other people, I would really like to have a voice on the web. I know it would be an ethereal one, at best. But perhaps it would prepare me for the establishment of a more permanent one in print.

The other day I had the astonishing idea of trying to get on radio. I had never thought of that before, but I think it would be ideal for me, because I truly do have the gift of gab. (Unless I'm in the depression pit. But I find that I tend to slide into the pit when I'm not doing anything that excites me enough to keep me from the edge of it.) The only problem is (besides getting a radio slot--but if Reagan could do it, why couldn't I?) figuring out what it would be about. I'm one of those people who know a little bit about a lot of things; that could be an asset or a liability, in any area, I suppose. That's why majoring in history has been challenging for me, and has also been one of my main problems in my writing: it is often too shallow, broad, general. I seem to think that I have to cover all there could possibly be to say in everything I write, and then I throw in a few side trips for good measure. I'm probably doing that right now. Maybe if I indulge myself now, I can get it out of my system...no, that's totally the wrong approach; I'm only encouraging my bad habit. Oh, well, there's always the opportunity to edit (if I avail myself of it).

I plan to be more focused in the future and if I'm not, I promise to summarize each blog so that you'll at least know what I meant to say, even if I didn't actually put those words in my main text. So here is my summary for today's blog: I am a writer, but have been accused of having the "gift" of communication (which is an extremely tactful way of saying that I talk a lot, but that I manage to be at least marginally interesting). I do enjoy expressing my opinions, but tend to come across a little strong in person, so I'm hoping to appear a little less threatening in print. Writing has a way of calming me down, and making me think before I "blurt"(usually). But then writing clearly exposes my run-on sentences; I can get away with them when I speak. (Then again, it could be that I sound incoherent and I just don't realize it.) So, in sum, I will be usuing this blog to communicate my opinions and observations, and trying mightily to keep the two separate. I do know the difference between them, so that is a start.

My First Ever Writing Course

It only took a half century for me to take a bona fide writing course. I am now officially taking English 268; Writing Creative Nonfiction, and at a university no less. The point being that I have never even had enough nerve (or I've been too arrogant; take your pick) to take an adult education or lifelong learning course or some such. The last time I had any kind of writing instruction I suppose was when I was in high school.

The strange thing is how I finally ended up here. When I decided to go back to school, I never considered majoring in creative writing. (OSU doesn't have an undergrad major like that anyway, only a MFA program.) It really boiled down to which major was I closest to earning, based on the hodge-podge of courses I had already taken over the years. My choices ended up being English, which didn't surprise me, and history, which did. But what really surprised me is that I chose history, and why I chose it: English (which would have been primarily studying literature) really really did not appeal to me at all.

So I began taking history courses, beginning with what they call a gateway course, an introduction to historical research, for which I had to receive at least a C before I could declare a history major. No problem, I thought. I could not have been more wrong. The teacher made us write a precis of every chapter of Marc Bloch's The Historian's Craft, one of the most difficult books I have ever read, much less written summaries of. And then there was the fact that I did not have the slightest idea how to write a precis, not to mention the fact that the style of a precis is about as antithetical to my natural style as night is to day. I was shocked when I got my first precis back with a big fat D on it: the first one I have ever received on a writing assignment in my life. My only hope for redemption was that the teacher let us write them over. It wasn't until my third precis that I finally "saw the light"--and it was literally a revelatory experience: until then I just couldn't grasp what I was doing wrong, let alone how to fix it. (Here I feel I must confess that without my husband's help, I don't think I would have ever figured it out, or not in time to redeem myself.) After that I redid all the substandard precis and ended up with an A for the course.

Similar things happened in my other history courses. I was surprised but also pleased to discover that how one writes is considered as important as what one writes about in the field of history, even though the standards and styles were all new (and somewhat more serious and dry) to me compared to the kind of writing I had been doing before. But I think the discipline was good for me: I learned a lot about structure, thorough research, and succinctness. I also began to see my worst habits, the way I meander and indulge myself, fail to come to the point, and leave parts of the story by the wayside, all unacceptable practices for the writer of history or the presenter of research. (Although I'm sure I'm doing it now!)

Then, last quarter, I signed up for a senior symposium on "Hollywood and History" which meant to examine the problems that films have in presenting historical accuracy. The end product of the course was to be a 25-page paper in which we would first review a book titled Past Imperfect: History According to the Movies, edited by Mark C. Carnes, then write a short piece about the difference between historical accuracy and historical authenticity, followed by in-depth analyses of two historically-based films of our own choosing, and concluding with a summary of how well the films we chose met the standards of accuracy/authenticity.

Well, I got off to a rocky start. I wasn't doing well mentally for some reason and bungled my first two rough drafts. The teacher didn't record our grades--they were just meant to be guidelines--but mine weren't good. Then I got really sick, physically sick, and not only couldn't go to class, but couldn't finish my second drafts on time. I worked really hard on them and when I finally did get them turned it, I thought they were practically in finished condition. I was wrong. The teacher had lots of criticisms, and still graded me badly. By this time I was so frustrated between still being sick and trying to figure out what the hell he wanted, I wrote him an email and pleaded with him for something to keep me going. He finally deigned to tell me that "my writing was better than most," I was "by far the most enthusiastic student in class," I had a lot of important things to say, and to not give up. Then he asked me if I had ever considered taking any creative writing courses.

Not really. Well, actually, yes. Of course. All I've ever wanted to be is a writer. But subject myself to that kind of scrutiny? Wait, what was I saying? What had I been doing for the past year in my history classes? So how could it be any worse to subject myself to it in yet another class which just happened to be an English class? At least I wouldn't also be expected to be learning about certain periods of history at the same time and would be freer to write about topics that might be closer to my heart. (Or whatever.)

So I mustered up my courage and registered for this Creative Nonfiction course and I've been to three classes now and done one of my assignments and so far it feels like a perfectly natural fit. If I had tried to do it a year and a half ago, or any time before now, I don't think I could have handled it. But everything I did up to now prepared me for this moment. And now, the ironic thing is, I'm beginning to think that I'll hold off getting my bachelor's so that I can take more creative writing courses and then graduate with a major in history and a concentration in creative writing but then apply for entrance to the MFA program in Creative Writing (maybe). Or maybe I will have made enough contacts and received enough advice to help me find my own direction as a writer. Either way, I think this would be a lot smarter for me than to graduate with just a major in history.

Giving Credit Where It's Due

I was searching Google this morning for credit card offers for first-timers (credit-card virgins??) for my husband and thought I'd check out poor-credit offers, too. They were all pitiful, but what was even worse were the reviews. If you ever find yourself weakening in your resolve to not get another credit card, or you want to scare off your kids from the same temptation, have them read some of these reviews (these were at www. cardoffers.com). My husband and I were talking this morning about how uncomfortable we were with the student loan debt we're acquiring, but when I think of what our life would be like if we were in any kind of typical consumer debt...! I just got a call the day before yesterday (on a Sunday, as a matter of fact) from a company that just purchased a debt of mine from Providian, which I haven't heard a word about for at least two, almost three years--and I even called and tried to find out about it!). The guy was nice and is "letting" me make a $50 hardship payment for three months, subject to a 90 day review (which means that it will probably end up like my Toyota debt: an interminable $50/mo payment, because after all, what choice do they have when I only make $1456. a month?). But the point is, without the student loans, we couldn't make it at all, unless and until we have other income. And since I certainly can't go to school and work, too, and I can barely handle going to school, I don't see that I have any other choice. Because if I feel somewhat trapped going to school, what would I feel like having to work? And from what I've been able to determine about myself, I begin to deteriorate whenever I feel trapped.

Second Thoughts

"Hollywood and History." That's the name of one of my classes this quarter. I've been really getting into it, but unfortunately I got way behind and I'm now in finals week with 75% of a 25-page paper to write. I may have to take an "incomplete" but I really don't want to have to do that. I'd be working on it right now, but I still have my "medieval tale" to finish and then my 8-page take-home final for German 19th century history. Remind me again: WHY am I doing this??

What's In A Name?

I used to like my name in a modest way. My first name, that is; god, I've changed my last name so many times even I lose track of who I am now. But my first name: I liked it because it was simple, dignified, gender-appropriate without being prissy, and didn't lend itself to being turned into a nickname. And the best part was: I was the only one I knew--when I was growing up anyway--who had my name. The thought of being one of a hundred other Susies or Debbies or Kathys made me sick to my stomach. After all, I didn't have much going for me as a kid, so at least I had one thing that was unique about me.

Now you have to understand--if you haven't already guessed--I come from a pretty WASPy background. Which means that there are just not a lot of names to go around, especially for girls. Unless you start digging 'way back and come up with something like Grindell or Medusa. Probably so many girls are being given boys' names these days because there are only so many good female names that don't sound insipid. It's hard to take a woman seriously when her name is Bambi or Gigi. Even Lisa or Michelle are suspect. You notice that the woman who plays Buffy goes by Sarah Michelle Gellar, right? Not just Sarah and definitely not Michelle. (And the joke about the name "Buffy" is that a girl with a name like that goes against type by being a vampire-slayer.)

I have a theory that you can predict how serious a career an actress is going to have by the name she uses (not necessarily the one she was born with). Or what kind of career she's going to have, period. (Norma Jean Baker would never have had the career she had if she hadn't become Marilyn Monroe, you know what I mean? Of course, that means the career wasn't Norma Jean's).

Think about it though: Meryl Streep, Ellen Burstyn, Reese Witherspoon, Halle Berry, Catherine Zeta-Jones (that Zeta makes all the difference in the world), Annette Benning, Gwyneth Paltrow, as well as her mother, Blythe Danner, well, you get the idea. There are probably a few reasons why Demi Moore's career hasn't stayed a steady course, but I can't help but think that her name has been at the bottom of at least one of them, either because of how she sees herself, or how others see her. (And I notice that she and Bruce named at least two of their three daughters totally gender-neutral names: Rumer and Scout. How they came up with Talullah, I'll never know.)

You might ask me, "What about Goldie Hawn?" And I would answer, "I rest my case." Bette Midler instead of Betty, Sigourney Weaver, and even Meg Ryan did the right thing to go with Meg and not Margaret, Peggy or Maggie. (No offense, Ms. Smith; you've obviously risen above both your names!) But I'm going to make a prediction here: Goldie's daughter is not going to be Ms. Hepburn's professional namesake (especially because she goes by Kate instead of the regal 'Katherine'). Cate Blanchett bypassed the problem by spelling it like the cat (with an 'e').

Panic

This week was hell. One thing that puts it into perspective for me is that five students died in a fire in off-campus housing over the weekend. It was even the one kid's birthday. And to make it worse (as if) -- it was arson. I can't even fathom how their families are doing. If that happened to one of my kids...Dear God in heaven, be with them, stick to them like glue.

But besides that I've been in a panic state from getting two D's in a row in my History class and I have no idea what I'm doing wrong. He's letting us re-write these but if I don't know what I'm doing wrong, what's the point? I had an appointment with Dr. Schneir and between him and Guenther I think I got some perspective back about being in school. I'm supposed to be doing this because I love to learn, but I got all caught up in proving that I can DO this! I've been a quitter all my life---well, maybe not a quitter exactly, but it sure has been hard to get a fire lit under myself. So I really want to see this through. And I want to enjoy it. But what is my long-term goal? And do I even WANT to have one?

I lied: It is the German that is driving me crazy. (Not a person: the language.) I left class almost in tears today. I studied so hard and I'm more confused than ever. I had to make a decision: do I want to go through this for the next two and a half months? It doesn't even matter who's at fault, the teacher or me or the combination of the two of us. Maybe I'm too old to pick things up quickly. Maybe she's too inexperienced. But one thing that's different about me now from thirty years ago: I did something about it. Tomorrow I'm changing from her class to Individualized Instruction. That wasn't my first choice but maybe that's what I've been led to. After all, I'm not a typical student for a lot of reasons, the least of which is my age: I never took German in school (but the French is the first to pop up when I need a German word), I've had a lot of exposure to Germany and things and persons German (including my husband and my in-laws), and I've been trying to teach myself German, with varying degrees of success, for over six years now.

Academia

Trying to do homework and feeling overwhelmed. Strangely enough it hasn't been the German that has been causing me the most anxiety; it has been the papers (short essays and precis) I have to write for my history course. I don't seem to know how to write "academically". Or at least that's what I fear. I haven't seen my grade on my first essay yet and I haven't had the appointment with my history professor from last quarter to discuss why my grade wasn't as high as I had anticipated.

I've been writing all along, and been published here and there, too. But maybe I missed the lessons about how to satisfy one's professors so that they think that YOU are thinking the way THEY think. Ya think?

Back To/In School

After thirty years, I'm back in school. In a way I feel as if I'm just picking up where I left off. It's a shock when I remember that the last time I walked this campus it was 1971. What are the differences? The similarities? Where do I start??

All Over the Web

I signed on to blog months ago---possibly even a year or more ago. Yet this is my very first blog. I have evidence of similar lack of commitment all over the Web. I wonder sometimes if I will run into myself somewhere and forget that I had ever been there. Actually, that HAS happened. But I've also ''disappeared''. Does one really disappear on the Net? Or just remain there somewhere lost in some broadband width, detritus from an abandoned web site?