A Memoir is Not a Status Update

I wonder how that specific writing experience would be different. Because of the public spaces that are always open. The readers that are just a Publish button away. And the endless opportunities for release. All of this at a memoirist’s fingertips, even if she is not ready. Even if she wants to be alone.

Blogging, Rediscovered (or Finding the Right Space)

San Francisco Fog

I’ve paralyzed myself as a result, and created a visual space that accommodates just one mode — a single version of me. I’ve left little room for experimentation; I’ve promised a certain experience for my readers. Or maybe this is all in my head, and I overthink things.

Maybe I just need to shut up and write.

Exploring Versions of Home

Embarcadero, San Francisco.

You can create your own profile on Medium and Hi and Exposure. But there’s an element of renting out space on these platforms, and I’m reminded of the loft my husband and I just moved out of — one unit within a huge, impersonal condo complex — and our quest to create the exact home we want.

Notes on a Static Front Page

20131229-234454.jpg

I’ve been wondering what to do with this blog, and I’m leaning toward creating a static front page, pointing to category collections and posts I’m proud of — and moving away from the blog format completely. Preserving the best moments of me, with my posts acting like exhibits in a museum.

On Writing (and Evolving) Online

A stunning spiral staircase and lots of books at Trinity College's library.

A writer who publishes on various platforms on the web is like an animal peeing in different places. I’m simply marking my territory — expanding the Cheri Lucas Rowlands brand far and wide.

Creating Our Own Narratives

weaving narratives

What we post in these moments of proclamation on a site like Facebook is a byproduct, a projection. Instead, life happens between status updates.

On (Un)organized Consumption

Streams

I guess, deep down, I do enjoy the labyrinthine-ness of the web. I complain about feeling left behind. About not knowing the best ways to do something. But I’ve never really been someone who expects — or wants — to conquer each minute of the day, to be some kind of marvel of productivity.

Instagram Has Ruined Me

Alhambra, Granada

Then I opened Instagram, ran a filter over it, and posted it — to send it off into the world to be liked and viewed for its moment of glory, and to shortly after join the stream of other Instagrams disappearing into our Internet wasteland.

Still Thinking About Now: On Twitter and (Real) Time

bananagrams

I think of the expiration dates we stamp on produce at the supermarket. How when we place items on shelves, we instantly date their freshness. I think about tweets in the same way: once unleashed for all to see, how long can they sit before they’re irrelevant? Before they’re kicked out of the conversation of now?

Instapaper and My Ideal Intellectual State

My Ideal State

Read Later. I’m unsure what this means now. It’s become less of an action, and now some kind of blessed, magical place. An ideal state far in the horizon, to where I put stories and ideas and information for me to consume and synthesize to make myself a better, more informed person.