A mere eight years of writing is all it took for me to become phobic about the web. About a year ago I made the mistake of clicking on this link to “nude footage” of some ESPN hottie strolling around naked in her hotel room, and God smote my computer with vengeful fury – fucked it right up, to be precise. For the first time in years I was without an internet connection, and I have to tell you, it was BLISS.
Problem was, everyone hated it but me. My wife hated it because I was using her computer and her email address. My editors hated it because having authors self-promote is the new deal. My agent hated it because my editors hated it.
But it was just so bloody cool, being locked up with my reading and writing, nary a soul looking over my e-shoulder. So bloody peaceful…
But of course I left a lot of people in the lurch, just vanishing the way I did. And for that, I am sorry – sometimes to the point of wringing my hands thinking about, other times in the way Ewan MacGregor felt sorry at the end of Trainspotting… Freedom sorry.
Which kind of brings me back to the point of this, my internet rebirth: complexity. As in the world is filled to the brim with it, and we poor slobs keep trying to suck it up with pin thin straws. Three pounds versus the infinite mass of the universe!
Bring it on.