Originally posted June, 2021
I’m not going to write another opinion on social media and its contribution to the progression or suppression of humankind. There are solid points for both sides.
As a person who spent years with monks and nuns contemplating the “oneness” of all things, I appreciate that social media represents that idea fairly well, both in its vastness and horror. What you find online exists in you, as well as in that obscure space you label as “out there”. Previous generations found it easier to cluster themselves with those who agreed with them while ignoring the dual nature of life; there is always a valid opposite. Now, the valid opposite is in everyone’s face when that face is fixated on a screen. I have no problem with that.
I would like to make a prediction, though. One hundred years from now, someone will begin to advertise something new called “individual consciousness” that you can learn to find in your primal mind. There will be some kind of program. You’ll be weaned from technology gently. You’ll practice solitude in seconds, then minutes, then hours. You’ll stick with it because the ad was intriguing. You won’t understand all of it, but it will resonate:
Know the peace of 0 followers and 0 following.
Rid yourself of podiums, soapboxes, and platforms.
Understand that you are valid because you are.
Lose your paparazzi; no witnesses necessary.
Accept that your value is beyond branding or appraisal.
This return to what still seems natural to some of us will be revolutionary by contrast.
In the meantime, I want to see how many people liked my latest cat pics.
Creative Types
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By Kimberly Moore
June 3, 2021
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Creative Types
I’ve been labeled a “creative type” before, usually before someone points out something unusual about me or a reaction that is out of the ordinary. The most obvious–I’m much better on paper than in person. My brain and mouth do not work at the same speed. Blaming it on creativity is less confrontational than blaming my verbal disability on me.
I encountered this again last night at a film festival my novel was nominated for. Keep in mind, because COVID is still causing organizational problems in Los Angeles, this event was virtual.
I found myself at a “table” with two movie producers during the “VIP soiree” part of the first evening. They asked about my work. No, I wasn’t there because of a film. Not even a screenplay or script. My novel was selected. I ended my explanation by saying that it was a Charlie Brown feeling I was experiencing.
They told me they work with writers frequently. “Creative types”, one of them said, “report more awkwardness in situations like these.” They continued advising me. I should write my novel in script form. I should continue looking for representation. I should welcome any and all attention to my work.
None of that advice was new. I was listening, but in my head, “awkwardness” was echoing. Even in a virtual room, finding a way to leave so I could laugh at my social ineptitude in private was impossible without further highlighting it. After stumbling through a description of my main character (I don’t remember what I said–all I heard was “awkward”), I turned the conversation on them. I asked for the best scripts they had ever read.
Asking that question was the best idea I have ever had. They talked, argued with each other, and asked me if I had seen certain films. All the while, I was scrolling the list of attendees and searching for the table of other writers, while keeping a straight face for the camera. The countdown began for the next segment. The three of us said smiling goodbyes.
Finally, I was sitting with other writers. Script writers, but still writers. I watched as we all happily muted ourselves and turned off our cameras.
I love my fellow creative types.
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