Facebook informed me that my profile was “disabled” (love that jargon) when I went to log in. It is a scene out of 1984. No information is being given to me, no reasons are supplied. I simply have been deleted. Several e-mails later still no success. it is beyond farce — here is so-called social media acting without due process, to say the least, and totally bereft of social skills. McCarthyesque, in that I cannot face my accusers. Given that I had not been actively contributing to the site for several weeks, that I am not a purveyor of pornography nor have I been vulgar in language, it is perplexing. I am being stonewalled. In the great scheme of things I don’t give a shit. Still, I have a nagging curiosity about what may have made the powers to decide to disable the site. I am open to your thoughts. As to the Facebook experience itself, it is mostly merchandising, advertising and tedium.
What is more important is that I am continuing to write as my new book is almost completed. I hope to come in about 175 pages; many of the stories have me breaking the boundaries of narrative and time because at this point of my life, free of the marketing shit that comes with publishing, free of the need to reach out to bloggers for reviews and the internet as well, I just go on my merry way. I am metaphorially trying to own me and what I create as a writer. I am free, reader, of what is expected of me, and how delightful that is. As long as I can print my book and hand it out or sell a few copies or give talks about it I am pleased. After writing about the Holocaust in an as many ways and styles I can imagine, after experiencing that torturous mindset of existential despair and unremitting pain, the rest of publishing is horse feathers. Shortly, Jane and I will sit down and try to place the stories in some kind of emotional order or rational sequence. Jane will write a preface which I always look forward to because she is a fine reader of writing, quite knowledgeable. And then I’ll fine tune the writing, give it to my favorite editor at Wheatmark, have my son design the cover, get a few blurbs and I’m off to see the wizard.
The next or parallel project to this book of short stories is a revision of The i Tetralogy. I have some internal corrections to make, one or two rephrasings and a new cover. I have sufficient quotations lauding the book to begin the new edition with several pages in praise of, etc. My hope is to someday teach the tetralogy and the new book together. I am finished with the Holocaust as a writer, for the moment.
After hustling a little I am in contact with the local librarian and I will be meeting up with him this week. I am offering my general vanilla workshop on writing as well as an ongoing workshop for critiquing works in progress. Of course, it comes down to participants. The course will be offered in October and hopefully I will have some takers. I am not charging anything at this time; however, in the future I will ask for some small fee. The idea here is to volunteer and then to see what I can get for my efforts. The fantasy is to have workshops out of my house. Jane will, from time to time, co-lead a group with me.
Jane and I are pretty well settled in; we have spent an inordinate amount of hard cash to bring the house up to snuff. We have our bills like every mortal. We will see it through. However, the perks here are terrific; shopping, restaurants galore, private swimming pool, gated area; middle-class neighborhood, we hope; mental stimulation; the Strip, omigod, the Strip; the casinos, the signs, the odd folk on the streets, the scuzzy mayhem of losers trying to be winners; the inept handyman; the scam artists; the crazy Nevada politics — who cares! our two office-nests where we write and work and the dearest treasure of all, the continuing intensity of our relationship — you may request pictures.
Adieu
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