This Week In Pictures
What have we learned this week, dear readers?
The Week In Review
January 11, 2009Deleted.
January 9, 2009My ex-boyfriend deleted me as a Facebook Friend.
And I’m bothered by it. Probably way more than I should be.
I don’t pay much attention to my Friend List. I have my Friends neatly compartmentalized. When I get a friend request, I don’t just confirm them. I put them in a neat list that helps me to reference them properly. It took me hours on a rainy Saturday night to get this together and I’m quite proud of my system:
I'm a bit obsessed about my Friend Lists. I like order.
See, isn’t that soothing to the eye? I love looking at my Lists, so orderly and neat.
Because of my system, I pretty much add anyone who asks. I’m using Facebook as a marketing and network tool, no sense in being picky about Friends. If you ask, I add. At least 99% of the time. I even have a special category for people I just don’t know at all. It’s called Who Is This?
And I’ve never deleted anyone. Ever.
Facebook Photo Phobia©.
January 9, 2009
This notification gives me hives.
This is the one Facebook notification that makes me feel all twitchy and ill. When I see it, my palms starting sweating and I move my mouse slowly, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling and saying a quick prayer before I click and see what hell awaits me.
This is what it means to have Facebook Photo Phobia©.
The Heat Check
January 8, 2009
I’m having a kick-ass year.
There. I said it out loud. My first book was published. Have I mentioned that it was on the NYT Bestseller’s list for two weeks straight!? I wrote cover stories like this one that I’m very proud of. I was profoundly moved and affected by experiences like this one–stories that become a part of the fabric of my life forever.
I’ve been working my butt off. And it’s paying off for me in both small and large ways.
And writing the above paragraph just made me sick to my stomach.
A Room Of One’s Own…
January 7, 2009
Sigh. Look at this spot. Just look at it!
This is where crime writer Patricia Cornwell writes her novels. Look at those gleaming hardwood floors! The built in bookshelves! The daylight streaming through the spacious room. Can you even imagine getting up in the morning, making yourself a cup of coffee and then padding into that room to start working?
Virgina Woolf famously said that women who wanted to write fiction needed money and a room of one’s own. I’ve never had the former. And I have always lusted after the latter.
