the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Author: Neil Kramer (Page 19 of 187)

She Was Crossing the Street

She was crossing the street. She had short blond hair and was wearing black. She strutted like a hip, confident, young New Yorker that you might see in a magazine. She belonged here. As we passed each other in the crowd, I took a quick photo of her, part of an iconic city street scene, and published it on Instagram.

An hour later, a blogging friend sent me a message.

I know this woman. No shit. She works for me. And I showed her the photo!

My first reaction was one of extreme horror. Ever since I started posting photos on Instagram, the thought of this happening was my biggest nightmare. A stranger would find his own photo. And I would deserve the punishment that fit the crime, like a shoplifter or insider trader deserving time behind bars.

But my tale had a happy ending. The woman LIKED the photo, and we now follow each other on Instagram! Proof that either God is on my side, or that New Yorkers are so narcissistic they will take publicity any way they can get it.

Over the last two years, several of my friends have taken issue with the concept of taking photos of strangers in the street. People are always waiting for me to argue with them, waiting for me to cry, “But it is COMPLETELY LEGAL!,” and disappointed when I don’t take the bait. You see, I KNOW it is WRONG. If anything, you should applaud me for keeping on with it. In the past, my “Citizen of the Month” persona would have kicked in after the first negative comment and I would have stopped, but I’ve pushed on doing it, despite it, finding it possible to live with myself doing something morally ambiguous.

I’ve learned this from you. I’ve been blogging for almost nine years, and I have seen a lot of shit go on — blatant hypocrisy, backstabbing friends, questionable business practices, bullying of others, and snobbism. But after awhile, it all becomes part of the fabric of life. Small moral lapses are forgotten and we all focus on the real meaning of the internet — business, networking, branding, and finding success. Morality might get you into heaven, but it has little to do with business or art. From my experience, the more someone succeeds in any type of business, the more likely they were involved in compromises to their personal moral code.

In the scheme of things wrong, taking photos on the street is small potatoes. Personally, if I never did anything that pushed me into the gray area of my own personal morality, I would never leave my house, or have the nerve to type out the word “fucking” rather than “f***ing.” (see blog posts 2005-2010)

I’m pretty moralistic about most things, and I find it difficult to see myself in a negative light. (note to self: talk about this with therapist, when you find one)

About a month ago, I went to an “Instameet” downtown. An Instameet is like a “Tweet-up,” but involves those heavily into Instagram as a social media tool. I was nervous when I arrived at the agreed on location, because unlike like Blogher, where I am instantly recognized, I didn’t know anyone, or understand the hierarchy. And believe me, there is one — just like in any social gathering.

In attendance were a few “famous” New York Instagram street photographers, some who had thousands of followers and were always being asked by brands to do corporate promotional gigs. I was most excited to meet some guy known as “The King” of New York iPhone street photographers. I was curious to see him at work.

An Instameet is an odd animal. You all walk the street together, like a photo mob, taking shots, but since photography is a solo act, there wasn’t much socializing. From what I learned, that happens later, in a bar. During the walk, everyone is too busy hoping to one up the next guy.

I watched “The King” as he worked his magic with his iPhone, and suddenly — the concept of street photography made me uncomfortable. By watching him, it was like a mirror to my own actions when I shoot with my iPhone, and I wasn’t liking what I was seeing.

I’m a rather lazy street photographer. If I see something or someone interesting in my path, I might attempt a shot. But “The King” was proactive. He didn’t let Fate determine his art. He would eye someone across the street, and follow him. He would even walk around the block, circling back, just to face his subject, inches away. He seemed to enjoy the danger; but to me, it seemed like STALKING! I even hated the way “The King” viewed his subject — not like he was a humanistic individual seeking the personal in others — but as if he was a hunter searching for prey.

“What a jerk,” I thought to myself, annoyed that he was so beloved by the others. “What he’s doing is SO WRONG!”

His iPhoneography work is now showing in a gallery in Soho. Art/Morality? Does it matter?

I enjoyed taking photos of my friends at BlogHer. I wish I had more of an opportunity to do that here in New York. I wish I had a beautiful girlfriend or photogenic kids to take photos of during the weekend. But I don’t. So, I practice my photography by shooting strangers in the street. Maybe there is a bit of loneliness to it. I’d rather see it as a celebration of others. And I do it with a good heart. I try not to be a jerk. I don’t stalk people, even if it means it can get me a better shot. I try to find my own grey area.

You might think this post is about Instagram. But it’s not. I don’t need you to write comments telling me that you like my photos. Thank you if you do. This post is more about fighting the instinct to do everything RIGHT, and being OK being a little WRONG.

Perfect for right before Rosh Hashanah!

I’ll worry about my morality. You can worry about yours.

Note: This post is written for myself. And more dangerous than you think.

Therapy

photo

Woman: “You really enjoy a woman’s body?”

Neil: “Is there anything better in God’s world?”

Woman: “How do my breasts taste to you?”

Neil: “Like milk and honey. Like the Holy Land described in the Bible. I still remember that from Hebrew School. A land of milk and honey.”

Woman: “Put your fingers inside me again. It felt so good before.”

Neil: “You know, I wonder if all of my problems in life are because my mother never breast-fed me. Maybe all those annoying lactivists online are right. Doctor Spock and Gerber fucked up an entire generation. Every issue with Sophia and Juli all come down to my using baby formula.”

Woman: “I love when you touch my pussy like that.”

Neil: “If you think about, it’s truly amazing that a baby can come out of a woman’s vagina. I never had a child so I’ve never seen a woman give birth. And I usually hide my eyes when they have those scenes in documentaries on PBS.”

Woman: “Oh my god. Harder.”

Neil: “But clearly, the vagina is one the eight wonders of the world! You think my mother still remembers giving birth to me? I owe her a lot, don’t I? She gave birth to me, for godsake! I’m glad I’m going to Paris with her for her birthday.”

Woman: “I want your cock in me now.”

Neil: “Have you ever been to Paris? Maybe you will know the answer. Should we bring Euros with us from the States, or get them over there?”

A VOICE comes from BELOW!

Penis: “Jesus Christ. This dialogue sucks.”

Neil: “Huh? Who said that?”

Penis: “Ha Ha, it’s me, Neil. Sorry to interrupt your little fantasy here, but your dialogue was putting me to sleep faster than when you were taking those 40mg of Prozac.”

Neil: “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Penis: “Stop talking to her so much and fuck her already. It’s a fantasy. You don’t have to talk to her so much in your own fantasy.”

Neil: “This is my fantasy, Penis. Not yours.”

Penis: “Who is this fantasy chick in your bed anyway?”

Neil: “It’s none of your business. And we’re not in my bed. We’re on her couch.”

Penis: “Won’t Juli be upset that you’re shagging some other woman in your fantasy?”

Neil: “Can we change the subject, Penis?”

Penis: “OK. So, are you still excited about your trip to Paris… with your mom?”

Neil: “Yes.”

Penis: “Any plans to go to New Zealand?”

Neil: “Not yet. It’s complicated.”

Penis: “I see. Still watching the Sopranos every night… with your mom?”

Neil: “Yes. We’re almost at Season Three. How do you know all this about my life?”

Penis: “I follow you on Facebook.”

Neil: “You’re on Facebook?”

Penis: “Who isn’t on Facebook nowadays? You should “like” my Facebook page.”

Neil: “You have a Facebook page?”

Penis: “Don’t you?”

Neil: “No. And I’m not “liking” the Facebook page of my Penis.”

Penis: “By the way, I saw your last status update. Boo-hoo. Your usual weepy stuff to get the mombloggers to care about you. “I’m thinking of looking for a therapist in NYC…””

Neil: “Stop it. Don’t read it — out loud.”

Penis: ““I’m thinking of looking for a therapist in NYC. Why? Because – well why did I feel the need to tell Facebook that I was thinking of looking for a therapist in NYC? How can I be an open and good friend to you, and listen to your stories, if I’m always so obsessed with my own stuff. I need to find someone who takes my insurance. At the same time, I wonder if therapy is just a waste of time, and I can just work out everything on my own by crowdsourcing my life with you. Veronica, please call me in two weeks and make sure I really put some effort into this. Action over talk.””

Neil: “Jesus.”

Penis: “You start looking for a therapist yet?”

Neil: “Not yet.”

Penis: “Why the need for a therapist — all of a sudden?”

Neil: “You know. Issues.”

Penis: “WAIT A MINUTE. Isn’t there a female therapist in the Sopranos that Tony Soprano goes to? The one with the nice legs and great ass?”

Neil: “Yeah. So what?

Penis: “You start watching this show with your mother… and suddenly you’re thinking about going to a therapist? OH, MAN. Why didn’t I see this at once — that fantasy women you’re fucking on the couch — is your imaginary new therapist?! You haven’t even found one yet, and you’re already doing her in your head — one who looks like Lorraine Bracco!”

Neil: “No, I’m not.”

Penis: “And then while you’re talking about your so-called “issues”, she’ll be sucking me off with her wet therapist’s lips.”

Neil: “That’s disgusting. You’re a male pig! I don’t WANT to know you!”

Penis: You don’t want to know me?

Neil: I read a quote on Pinterest that said “You are only as good as your friends. Embrace positive-oriented friends.” And YOU are never positive-oriented.”

Penis: “I’m a fucking COCK! I’m true to who I am. YOU’RE never positive-oriented. You’re the phony one.”

Neil: “I’m not a phony.”

Penis: “Oh no? And why did you go to BlogHer again this year? How many women did you imagine sucking your cock there?”

Neil: “I went to BlogHer to learn from my peers! To grow as a blogger!”

Penis: “That wasn’t the only thing growing during the fashion show.”

Neil: “Listen. I respect you that you have a point of view. I’m learning to listen to all voices, no matter how diverse. But let’s face it. You’re a Penis. I’m a man. I’m the one with the brain. Do you know what I got on my verbal and math SAT scores? I was in the top 4% of all seniors in the United States of America! I don’t need to listen to you.”

Penis: “You’r afraid. I get it. You’re afraid of real relationships, afraid of intimacy, afraid of everything. So you play it safe. You flirt with married women. You have a relationship with a woman a million miles away. You start fantasizing about shagging some female therapist on her couch rather than going for some real help!”

Neil: “You’re crazy. You’re insane! I won’t stand for this. I’m leaving!”

Penis: “Where are you going to go? Where are you going to hide? I’m always going to be with you?”

Neil: “No, you’re not! Not if I use this new steak knife my mother got at Bed Bath and Beyond with that 20% off coupon!”

Penis: “You want to cut me off? Go for it. Do it! I dare you!”

Neil: “I will! I will! Don’t tempt me!”

Penis: “Listen, you miserable piece of shit. I’m the only one who really knows you. Cares for you. Sympathizes with you. This is real therapy here. Tough love therapy. We’re a team, Neil. If I’m happy, you’re happy. If your happy, I’m happy. I’m tired of getting blowjobs in your imagination. You need to face reality, Neil. That’s your first step in recovery. Admit to me that you were fantasizing about some imaginary female therapist.”

Neil: “I’m not one of those guys.”

Penis: “Yeah, yeah, a progressive liberal white dude who would respect his female therapist, and never think about her naked.”

Neil: “I don’t even have a female therapist. This is all hypothetical.”

Penis: You’re missing HER. Aren’t you?

Neil: Of course I do. I miss our conversations. Our dinners together.

Penis: And what else? Why are you fantasizing about this therapist?

Neil: Shut up.

Penis: “You need to do this, Neil. You are weak, Neil. You are weak. You need to do this for HER. For you mother. For everyone on the internet. Tell me the truth. Tell yourself the truth. Tell me about this imaginary therapist. Tell me you wanted to fuck her. Say it. Say it!

Neil: “Yes, Yes, Yes. I was imagining fucking this imaginary female therapist. She was just so nice and compassionate and listened to me and so smart and she kept one button open on her soft blouse, and I could imagine her breasts in my mouth, and… I’m sick. I’m a sick and terrible person. I am immoral. I am self-absorbed. I am sexist and racist and homophobic and I don’t even like Indian food, even though I always say I love it when I go out to dinner with my college friends from Columbia, just so they can’t accuse me of being overtly Eurocentric. I’m the worst. I’m a shell of a man. God should strike me down with a thunder bolt right now and I will deserve it.”

Penis: “Time’s up. That will be $150.”

Neil: “Do you accept United Healthcare as insurance.”

Penis: “No.”

Truth Quotient: 100% True

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

FRIDAY AFTERNOON
VALENTINO’S PIZZA, QUEENS
CONVERSATION WITH BOBBY

Bobby: “What the hell do you talk about for three hours at a time?”

Neil: “We’re in a long distance relationship. All we have at our disposal is chatting and texting. We’re on the phone every day.”

Bobby: “But three hours a day?!

Neil: “We talk about everything. Our lives, movies, online stuff.

Bobby: “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that imaginary online world you’re in where you have 10,000 friends who don’t know that you really live with your mother.”

Neil: “It’s not all imaginary.”

Bobby: “Let me ask you something. Did you really share a room with two hot chicks at that blogging conference, like in Three’s Company?”

Neil: “Yes. It was exactly like Three’s Company.”

Bobby: “You know, in the real life “Three’s Company,” I bet Jack was banging both of them.”

Neil: “Yeah, probably.”

Bobby: “They just never showed you that on TV because HBO wasn’t invented yet.”

Neil: “Note to self. Pitch “Three’s Company – the Real Story” to HBO.”

Bobby: “So, isn’t your girlfriend — all the way in New Zealand — worried about you sharing a hotel room with two mom-blogging hotties?”

Neil: “Nah. She isn’t like that. She’s pretty sure of herself.”

Bobby: “Good. You don’t need another needy woman in your life.”

Neil: “Well, there is ONE woman who I have to be careful about when I mention her. Some blogger in Massachusetts. Marcia Jenturn.”

Bobby: “Why? You banging her?”

Neil: “No, no. It’s just that I love her writing so much that I’m always talking about her.”

Bobby: “What does she write about? Her sex life?”

Neil: “No, mostly about her feeling depressed.”

Bobby: “She sounds a lot of fun.”

Neil: “Oh, but she writes so beautifully —

Bobby: “It sounds like you have a crush on her. Like you did with yearbook editor in high school.”

Neil: “Judy Weiss. Uh, OK. Maybe a little.”

++++

FRIDAY NIGHT
BEDROOM
TWO HOURS INTO A PHONE CALL WITH NEW ZEALAND

Her: “So, anything else new online? Haven’t had much of a chance today.”

Neil: “Oh, you have to read this incredible new post by… uh…uh…”

Her: “Go ahead. You can say her name.”

Neil: “Marcia Jenturn.”

Her: “Yeah, yeah. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. What did she write about now?”

Neil: “She wrote a beautiful poem about a bird. It was like she WAS the bird.”

Her: “Look, she’s single. Why don’t you ask her out already? You clearly like her.

Neil: “I like her writing.”

Her: “I love you, Neil. But this is never going to work out with us living so far away. I give you my permission to ask her out on a date.”

Neil: “I don’t want to date her.”

Her: “Well, she lives closer to you than I do.”

Neil: “Stop it. You’re being silly. I don’t want to date her. She’s not my type. She’s way more talented than I am. It would make me uncomfortable.”

Her: “Wait a minute. Are you saying you the only woman who IS your type is a woman who is LESS talented than you?”

Neil: “No, of COURSE NOT. I mean, I like you. You are very talented. Super Talented.”

Her: “Super Talented in what?”

Neil: “Well, you are very sexy.”

Her: “I am super talented being sexy?”

Neil: Yes!

Her: What a waste. If I knew that was my main talent, I would have gotten a degree in pole dancing, not English Literature?”

Neil: “No, no. You’re also very smart. And kind. Super kind.”

Her: “And what about MY writing?”

Neil: “Well, you are so busy lately, with school and your son. So you don’t get a chance to write much anymore.”

Her: “What about when I do write on my blog? You’re a writer. You know good writing. Is my writing ever as good as Marcia Jenturn’s?”

Neil: “You know, I don’t want to change the subject, but Marcia Jenturn is our biggest fan. She is always telling me on IM that I should stop being a wimp and move to New Zealand. To “follow my heart,” as she said so poetically. She is so wise.”

Her: “You IM Marcia Jenturn — about us?”

Neil: “She understands LOVE so well. You know, she’s a poet.”

Her: “I see. Can I expect you to soon show up at her house to take Instagram photos of her.”

Neil: “Well, actually, in two weeks, we might go on a Instawalk together. Have you seen her photography? Marcia’s has such an eye for bold colors and light!”

Her: “MARCIA, MARCIA, MARCIA! Why do you want to even be with me?”

Neil: “Because I love you! There is no one else like you in this world!”

Her: “But look at Marcia. She is amazing in everything. You say so herself.”

Neil: “Wait, are you jealous of her? Is that what I’m beginning to hear.”

Her: “Yes, maybe a little.”

Neil: “There’s no reason to be jealous of her. She means nothing to me compared to you. In fact, we OWE her for much of our success.”

Her: “We do?”

Neil: “Yes. If it wasn’t for her, I would have never done that “thing” for you when I was in New Zealand.”

Her: “Huh? What does she have to do with you doing that “thing?”

Neil: “Well, earlier that day, I emailed her and she told me that I definitely should try it out if I wanted to impress you.”

Her: “You emailed Marcia Jenturn for sex advice while you were here?”

Neil: “She’s a poet! She understands this stuff!”

++++

MONDAY AFTERNOON
VALENTINO’S PIZZA, QUEENS
CONVERSATION WITH BOBBY

Bobby: “I can’t believe you didn’t speak to New Zealand all weekend? Did you get into a fight?”

Neil: “No. No. Nothing like that. She was just busy.”

Bobby: “Oh yeah? What was she doing? Playing hard to get?”

Neil: “Nah, she was just online all weekend with… Marcia Jenturn?”

Bobby: “Uh-oh!”

Neil: “No, it’s actually quite funny. It seems that after all that, they found out that they attended the same college together back in the 1980s, so they contacted each other, and spent all night chatting online. Now, they’re best buddies.”

Bobby: “Holy shit! You realize that if they become friends, they’re going to talk about everything. And I mean everything.”

Neil: “They are?”

Bobby: “Women, Neil. Yes.”

Neil: “Shit.”

Bobby: “It’s over, Neil. Your little online literary crush with Marcia Jenturn is dead.”

Neil: “Sigh. I know. I wonder if Judy Weiss is on Facebook.”

Text Messages From a Long-Distance Relationship

Linguistics is the scientific study of human language.  Linguistics can be broadly broken into three categories or subfields of study: language form, language meaning, and language in context. The earliest known activities in descriptive linguistics have been attributed to Pāṇini around 500 BCE, with his analysis of Sanskrit in Ashtadhyayi.

Day One – THEY MEET

Him: (typing into iPhone) “I’m sitting here in McDonald’s, thinking of you.”

Her: (typing into laptop, thousands of miles away) “Oh, yeah?”

Him: (typing into iPhone) “I’m thinking of that comment you made on that Huffington Post article about genetic modified foods. That was so intelligently stated. I wish others were as committed as you in wanting to save the planet.”

Her: (typing into laptop, thousands of miles away) “Why, thank you!  That is such an honor, coming from someone I respect so deeply. I love it when a man is confident enough to maintain such a well-regarded Pinterest board on kitchen utensils!”

Him:  “Where do you live again?”

Her:  “”

Him:  “Wow, that’s far away!”

Day Twenty-Six – THEY BOND

Him: (typing into iPhone) “I’m sitting here in McDonald’s, thinking of you.”

Her: (typing into laptop, thousands of miles away) “Oh, yeah?”

Him: “Why are you so far away?”

Her: “I know. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Him: “If you were here now, I would grab you, take you, and f**k you right on the table here in McDonald’s?”

Her: “Ooh, would there be fries with that?”

Him: “Absolutely. We would be f**king while I feed you fries, one at a time?”

Her: “And would there be a chocolate shake with this f**king?”

Him: “Absolutely. F**king with fries, f**king with a chocolate shake, f**king with two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun – everything!”

Her: “Ooh, that is so hot.”

Day One Hundred and One – THEY CARE

Him: (typing into iPhone) “I’m sitting here in McDonald’s, thinking of you.”

Her: (typing into laptop, thousands of miles away) “Oh, yeah? Wait a minute – why are you in McDonald’s again? Maybe you wouldn’t have to take those cholesterol pills your doctor gave you if you didn’t go to McDonald’s everyday!”

Day Two Hundred and Nineteen  – THEY MISCOMMUNICATE

Him: (typing into iPhone) “I’m sitting here in Chipotle, thinking of you.”

Her: (typing into laptop, thousands of miles away) “Oh, yeah?”

Him: “Why are you so far away?”

Her: “I know. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Him: “If you were here now, I would grab you, take you, and uh… MAKE LOVE to you right here on the table here in Chipotle. But first I would clean off the table.”

Her: “Thank you. Maybe next time, you can even bring a nice tablecloth.”

Him: “I did bring a tablecloth. 100% cotton. And I bought a candle too!”

Her: “How romantic!”

Him: “Let’s make love.”

Her: “I love when you say that.”

Him: “Make love?”

Her: “No, LOVE. I love when you say you LOVE me.”

Him: “Well, actually, I said, “MAKE LOVE,” not specifically “LOVE” as a solo word.

Her: “I love you, too. Are you asking me to marry you?”

Him: “Huh? What? Oh no, my battery is running out of my iPhone. I’ll have to speak with you later.”

Day Three Hundred and Twenty Eight – THEY ARE IN TROUBLE

Him: (typing into iPhone) “I’m sitting here in Souplantation, thinking of you.”

Her: (typing into laptop, thousands of miles away) “Oh, yeah?”

Him: “Why are you so far away?”

Her: “I know. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Him: “If you were here now, I would grab you, take you, and uh, uh… MAKE WHOOPIE with you right on the salad bar.”

Her: “Make Whoopie? What are you talking about?”

Him: “Making Whoopie? From the old Newlywed Game. Didn’t you ever see the old Newlywed Game?”

Her: “No.”

Him: “You’ve never seen the Newlywed Game?”

Her: “You’re older than me. That was before my time.”

Him: “I’m sure they show it in repeats, on the Game Show Network.”

Her: “I don’t want to watch the Newlywed Game. It sounds stupid.”

Him: “I loved that show. I used to watch it with my mother.”

Her: “Well, then maybe you should MAKE WHOOPIE with your mother.”

Him: “That’s gross.”

Her: “Besides, I probably wouldn’t even understand a show called the Newlywed Game, since apparently I’m never going to be a newlywed anytime soon.”

Him: “OK, that’s it. I’m making a decision here. No more of this long-distance thing. I’m packing up everything I own, and flying out there to live with you forever. With my mother.“

Her: “Huh? What? Oh no, my battery is running out of my iPhone. I’ll have to speak with you later.”

Short Fiction Writing Lab at BlogHer ’13

Storytelling

One of the most exciting changes at the BlogHer conference over the years has been the increasing focus on writing. It is an acknowledgement by the powers-that-be that the core of blogging is not just about SEO or branding, but writing.

Not “content,” but WRITING.

This year, the Writing Lab at BlogHer ‘13 offers two 90-minute sessions each day on various subjects. I will be leading the writing lab in Short Form Fiction. The meeting times will be —

Friday afternoon from 2:30 – 4:00 PM

AND

Saturday morning 10:30 – noon.

Come prepared with your questions and your laptop or tablet (or come old school with a notebook).

Here’s a short syllabus of the Short Fiction Writing Lab. I put it up, hoping for some feedback, especially by anyone who is interested in attending. After all, writing is all about editing. Would you like me to add or change anything about the writing lab? It’s supposed to be a discussion for YOU.

0-45 MinutesDoes Short Fiction Have a Role in Mainstream Blogging?

1. Journalism, Opinion, and Memoir are accepted forms of blogging, but is fiction?

2. What makes short fiction different than a novel?

3. Does the main character have to be likeable?

4. The importance of drama. Why we hate it in real life, but must embrace it in our creative writing.

5. What reading 400 posts for the VOTY competition this year taught me about short fiction writing.

6. Using fiction to fictionalize your online blog persona. How creating a somewhat fictional first-person “YOU” can allow you to be more honest and authentic as a blogger? Is David Sedaris really “David Sedaris?” Narrarators — reliable or unreliable?

7. How far can you go in fictionalizing your life on your personal blog? Is anything off-limits? Do we judge a person’s imaginary life as harshly as we do their real life? Would you be afraid to have dinner with a fiction writer like Stephen King?

8. How do you communicate to your audience what is fiction and what is real? Did you really sleep with that hunky Fed-Ex delivery guy, or was it just a good story?

9. Remembering James Frey. When is it fiction and when is it lying? Are we hiding from ourselves when we fictionalize?

45-90 Minutes Let’s Write –The Truth Quotient Writing Assignment.

1. Write a one paragraph 100% true story based on an assigned topic.

2. Now write two more one paragraph stories based on the first, but with the second story being 50% true and the third story being 75% fiction.

3. Discussion. Which of the three stories best captures the original intention of the writer. Which of these three stories is the most “honest.” Which best engages the reader? Which is the most “authentic?”

4. Can there ever be a 100% true story?

5. The purpose of fiction.

Understanding my Privilege

hot2

I took this photo of some man sweltering in the New York City heatwave, and when I looked at it later, I suddenly understood the concept of “privilege.”

I know this will make no sense to you right now.  But it was an “aha” moment for myself, brought upon by all the discussion about the Zimmerman trial in Florida, and what his acquittal tells us about America.

I’m privileged as a straight, white male — because I’m born as “the norm.”  I could have been a perfect home run if I was also born as a “Christian.”  You would think being born privileged in America is good, and we would want to proudly announce it to the world, but in today’s culture, no one wants to admit that they were given a head start in the race to the finish line.  So, we tend to avoid the conversation.

But as a “Citizen of the Month,” [see blog title], I believe it is important to acknowledge my privilege, because if I don’t, I can’t even begin to understand the struggles of my fellow citizens who weren’t born into the norm.   I have an important role in making things better for everyone, since I am the one with the advantages.

Now, let’s go back to the photo of this man.  He is in a wheelchair.  He looks miserable. Perhaps he is even hit hard times.  He is still a privileged straight white male.

That was the aha moment.

Just imagine how the scenario and context of the photo would change if he were a black man sitting on the street like this.  Would we assume a certain life history that would be different because of his race?   All things aren’t equal.

This man is privileged.  That does not mean he is lucky.  Or even happy.  If I told you that this straight white man was born a multi-millionaire, lost it all to a drug addiction, and is now homeless, would you lose all empathy for him because of his privilege?  Of course not.

A privileged person can have a life of tragedy through illness, broken relationships, bad luck, or plain stupidity.  A non-privileged person can go to one of our nation’s top private university and become President of the United States.  Individuals rise and fall despite of their privilege and lack of privilege for many reasons — psychological, economic, good looks, parental guidance, experience with bullying in school, and even a natural ability to juggle.  This doesn’t change the fact of privilege.

The concept of privilege is a sociological one, and revolves around issues of group identity and social biases.    This does not take away from free will or just plain luck.  A black man could have a life of ease, and be born of wealthy parents, and still lack the privilege of the white man of going to the supermarket wearing a hoodie.

That is what we are talking about.  Not the ups and downs of life that everyone, privileged or not, will have to deal with over their lifetime.

Thinking of this issue as two separate entities  — privilege and free will — makes it easier for me to accept my privilege as a straight white male.  I was born with advantages.    On the other hand, the world is not an academic exercise in sociology.   Life will always be a game of high stakes poker, no matter what cards you are dealt.   Accepting your privilege just means that you believe in making sure the card game of American life as run as fairly as possible for all.   It cannot predict the outcome of every individual’s hand.

Last post:  Owning my Racism

Owning My Racism

In ten days, thousands of bloggers, mostly smart and saavy women, will be heading into the beautiful city of Chicago for the annual BlogHer conference.

Another fun fact: Chicago is also the murder capitol of the nation.

In fact, at the same time as BlogHer, there will be another conference in town — an important emergency national summit on urban violence at Chicago State University, led by the Congressional Black Caucus.

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The Sheraton, the BlogHer host hotel, has a special conference rate of $199 a night. Before I found roommates, I searched the Internet for less expensive alternatives. I discovered a good deal at a chain hotel a train-ride away. I DM-ed one of my friends in Chicago to ask about this hotel.

“You know anything about it?” I asked.

“Oh, you don’t want to go there. It’s in a very bad neighborhood.”

A very bad neighborhood. Chicago. I bet you are having the same images in your mind that I do — liquor stores, pawn shops, Fried Chicken places, unemployed men, gangs, and mostly black faces. And gun violence.

Poor. Black. Crime. Violence. Fear. The words easily come together in urban America.

“Better you stay at the Sheraton,” said my friend. “Why tempt fate?”

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What does this have to do with the Trayvon Martin shooting or the George Zimmerman trial in Florida?

Nothing. But everything. I live in America. I am part of the problem.

The Three Types of Personal Blogging Posts

I’m giving a little talk to a group in New York this afternoon on the “art of blogging” and it got me asking the question, “What is the essential core of personal blogging?”

After much pondering on the question, I whittled the entire art form — every single blog post ever written — down to three basic topics, or themes, and the typical responses to these posts from the readership-at-large.

Blog Post Theme #1 —

“This is why the OTHERS are WRONG.”   They act, speak, or think incorrectly, and I will tell you why.

Response from Readers to Blog Post Theme #1 —

“You nailed it. I’m sharing this on Facebook.”

Blog Post Theme #2 —

“This is why I am RIGHT.”  I work hard. I play hard. I am blessed with good luck.

Response from Readers to Blog Post Theme #2 —

You are AWESOME. I’m sharing this on Twitter.

Blog Post Theme #3 —

“This is my real life, unfiltered, warts and all.”

Response from Readers to Blog Post Theme #3 —

1)  “Crickets.”

2)  [HUGS]

3)  You’re one fucked up asshole.

4)  I am so proud of your strength and bravery in being so vulnerable online.  Unfortunately, I need to only surround myself with positive people, so I am unfollowing you everywhere.   Namaste.

5)  Thanks for voting for me for my 2013 BlogHer Voice of the Year blog post this year, which I will be reading in front of thousands, assuming you DID vote for me.  And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t really matter.  I can’t wait to see you and have you hear me read my post out loud! It’s so exciting, right?!  Check out my other blog posts at —

6)  Venetian blinds are an excellent addition to any abode. Your information adds much insight into my glorified research. Thank you for your good work! What is your favorite travel software to Belirus?

One Friend

Jay was sick of the superficiality of his online life – the five thousand friends on Facebook, the ten thousand on Twitter, the seven thousand on Instagram. Others were envious of all these numbers, much in the same way that grade school friends were impressed with his large Topps baseball collection. But these were not baseball cards. Collecting acquaintances online made him feel stupid and lonely.

“It’s all an illusion – this internet friendship thing,” thought Jay.

Jay tried using Dunbar’s Theory as a basis of his online life. Dunbar was a famous sociologist popular in internet circles, who theorized that one can only maintain one hundred and fifty serious interpersonal relationships, whether the subject lived in a big city like Hong Kong or a small town like Podunk.

Jay created a list of only a hundred and fifty close friends and chose to only follow them online, but even the daily lives of a hundred and fifty were too much for him to handle. Every day, another friend’s child was getting bat mitzvahed or a beloved family dog grew ill, and Jay would sit by his laptop, tears in his eyes, needing to give someone a congratulating handshake or a hug. But before Jay would even get a chance to write a heartfelt response, the scrolling lifestream would flow on, like an endless river of pathos.

There was only one solution to all these meaningless connections. He would do Dunbar one step further. Jay made the decision to only follow ONE person on the internet. This way, Jay would finally be able to enjoy a true, satisfying bond with a single individual online.

Jay closed his eyes and picked a name off of his lengthy Facebook friend list. His finger randomly fell on the name of Karen Springer, an online friend that Jay didn’t know very well – she was the visiting sister of an acquaintance that he once met at a Twitter meet-up at a bar in the Village but never got a chance to say much to her other than, “Can you please pass the pretzels?”

Now was Jay’s opportunity to get to know Karen, as a friend.

Facebook gave all the necessary background for Jay to catch up with the basic details of her life.

Karen Springer.

Wife.

Mother of two.

Dog Owner.

Resident of Nashua, New Hampshire.

Writer of the blog “The New Hampshire Momma.”

Monday, the first day of Jay’s social media experiment, was a joy. Unburdened by the useless links and demands of hundreds of needy “internet gurus” hawking their dull blog posts, Ted presentations, and artistically-bereft Kickstarter campaigns, Jay connected with Karen one-to-one, the way God intended — by reading her blog.

Jay didn’t just skim Karen’s latest blog post, spitting out some ass-kissing comment, but read Karen’s writing as if it was a prize-winning memoir. On Monday, he read the ENTIRE ARCHIVE, every post she wrote since 2007! In one swoop, Jay learned about Karen’s previous struggles with her infertility, her tense relationship with her overbearing mother-in-law, Rita, and even her favorite brand of vibrator, Doc Johnson’s Ultra-Realistic DM3 Dual Density Large-Sized Vibrating Cock, proving that a sponsored post CAN be written well.

On Tuesday, Jay explored Karen’s social media presence. Previously, his fast-moving Facebook and Twitter streams gave him anxiety, but now, by just following one person, it was as relaxing as a Zen Garden. Jay felt as if he was in an intimate conversation with a close friend. Jay dug deeper into Karen’s online life, even examining her well-organized Pinterest boards, which showcased her eclectic range of hobbies and interests, from “Retro Kitchen Appliances” to “Knitting Patterns” to “Sexy Firemen.”

The first bump in the road occurred on Wednesday. Jay expected Karen to be offline in the morning. After all, she did mention her busy day on Facebook the previous night – her daughter’s class trip, the extra shift at the hospital, and her early lunch with Barbara, an old friend from junior high, visiting from Cleveland. But by 2PM, when there was still no word from Karen, not even an Instagram photo of Barbara and Karen together at Applebee’s, Jay begin to worry.

Normally, Jay might have never noticed Karen’s absence. There would be others online screaming for his attention, as if each believed he was the sun in which the world revolved. Jay remembered that unfortunate incident last June when one of his Facebook friends DIED in a boating accident, and Jay didn’t notice this tragedy until five months after the funeral, and by that time, writing a “my condolences” update on his friend’s “In Memory Page “ seemed to be in bad taste.

But Jay was not following five thousand strangers anymore. Jay had a real friendship with Karen, one which involved concern for her safety and health.

By evening, Jay was deeply lonely. When you follow five thousand friends on Twitter, there’s always SOMEONE online with a witty comment about Kim Kardashian, even at 3AM when the Australians take over the airwaves, but when you’re following just ONE PERSON, if they aren’t online, that’s THAT. It’s only you, buddy. Jay’s social media stream was blank.

Jay thought about re-reading Karen’s blog archives, but since she rarely replied to outside comments, and the last comments were all his own, it seemed silly to reply back to his own self.

Jay grew despondent. He was about to shut off his laptop, the first time in a week, but then – Eureka! Is it possible….?

Yes, it was possible. Armed with Karen’s email address from Facebook, the name of the hospital where she worked in New Hampshire, and a few well-placed Google searches, Jay was able to pinpoint Karen’s home on Google Maps, and even determine how much the house was worth if put on the market today!

The next morning, Jay was on a Greyhound bus to Nashua, New Hampshire. If there was a problem, Jay could offer assistance. That is what friends are for, after all. And if his worry was misplaced, well, his arrival would just be a pleasant surprise!

Jay was relieved to meet Karen at the front door. She was looking happy and healthy, and wearing the same blue sundress that she wore in that Flickr photo as a volunteer at the hospital “fun run for childhood diabetes” in 2011.

“Surprise!” Jay said, one good friend to another.

Karen seemed rather shocked at Jay’s appearance, not rushing and hugging him as he expected. But then Jay remembered that he was in New Hampshire, and was reminded of the traditional stoic mannerisms of those born and bred in New England, such as his Aunt Mildred, who seemed stern and unfriendly on the outside, but was loving and fun once she let her guard down.

Jay learned that Karen had a good reason for not being online all day on Wednesday. Besides her chores, she was having a problem with her laptop’s battery. Jay immediately volunteered to come inside of the house and help her with the problem, being a amateur computer hobbyist, but she insisted that she didn’t want to impose on Jay’s time.

“Roger,” yelled Karen, calling for her husband.

Jay smiled. Karen was such a gracious host. She wanted her husband to meet her dear online friend.

The next day, Karen wrote a post saying that she was closing down her blog, and deleting all of her social media outlets. Jay saw this as a positive step for his friend, Karen. Clearly, over the last week, Karen discovered the true meaning of online friendship, and would NOT go back to the status quo – the superficial online life where numbers and influence were more important than a real relationship with another person. Karen had seen the light and for her — there was no turning back the clock

“More power to you, my friend!” Jay wrote to Karen on her feed, his last comment to her before she deleted her Facebook account.

Jay beamed, feeling a sense of accomplishment, as if in a small way, he had just started a revolution online, and then returned to his Facebook friend’s list, closing his eyes as he picked his next one friend.

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