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.
How raw and honest can the writing in this journal be, then, when I’m already editing for public consumption? If I’m always looking outward, and now view writing and publishing as the same thing?
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.
Since I was too busy this year reading everyone else’s posts — rather than writing my own — I thought to share some of my favorite reads, publications, and blogs I’ve enjoyed this year.
Do we really write to get things out of us? Do we ever shake these things — these things we’re deeply curious about, these things we’ve experienced and have changed us to the core?
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.
So here I am, molding jet lag into something productive and creative, carving out a bit more time. Squeezing out as much as I can between 5 am and 7 am, as dark turns to light outside of my window and this play time for my mind runs out.
So I’ve thought about what digital spaces I’ll update with this name change, and which ones I may leave alone, and why I choose to make this distinction. I updated my name on Facebook—minus the reaction I had after updating my Twitter account—which makes me wonder about the identities maintained on each of these networks, the distinct spheres of my Internet, and the different levels of public.
Sometimes I envision my Twitter feed as rushing water: my presence is a dam, and each tweet is debris making its way downstream. It’s now a challenge to let information simply flow—to let tweets swim by without me seeing or interacting with them.
After posting a few well-received pieces on Facebook at the end of 2011, I made a New Year’s resolution—my only resolution—to post tighter pieces, even if that meant posting less frequently. And that’s exactly what I did, and over the past five months I’ve written better stuff (I think) and built a wider readership.
The challenge, and the art, lies in confronting the facts—all of them, whether you like them or not—and shaping them into something beautiful. Hannah Goldfield, “The Art of Fact-Checking,” The New Yorker I wanted to say I had a romance in the summer of 2002. That my adoration for Montreal grew […]
While I tend to muse on fleetingness and elusive memory, and find an odd satisfaction in not knowing, recording, or understanding, I do believe in Post-its: a thought frozen in time, emerging from somewhere I sometimes don’t recall. Yellow slips of paper stuck to my journal pages. Virtual ones scattered […]
I graduated from the MFA program at Goucher College in Maryland, which focuses solely on creative nonfiction. The couple dozen writers in my 2007 graduating class were fierce, talented memoirists and narrative, investigative, and immersion journalists from all over the world: throughout the US, Europe, South Africa, and even a […]
I find the key is to think of a day as units of time, each unit consisting of no more than thirty minutes. —Will Freeman, About a Boy In About a Boy, the main character, Will, measures his days in units. Taking a bath: 1 unit. Watching Countdown: 1 unit. Exercising (aka playing […]
At 25, I started writing a book. Thailand lured me in one direction; the rave scene pulled me in another. My four mentors were kind and gentle, willing to read my fragments, my ramblings, my shit. At the core, I knew what I needed to write about: the dance underground; […]
I left London on Monday. My body is back in Northern California, but my mind, stubborn, remains in Europe. Right now, it’s probably vegging out in a warm, cozy pub in Islington, or strolling down a street in Covent Garden, where I stayed (thanks to my dear friend Nick and […]
When you get there, there isn’t any there there. –Gertrude Stein When I was 19, I moved to the French Riviera. A screenwriting major, I chose to study in Cannes—over Florence and London—so I could intern at the Cannes Film Festival and taste the industry, all glammed up. And I […]
1. My mother and father, both born in the Philippines, move to the United States and meet one another, or 2. My mother (or father) moves to the United States, but my father (or mother) does not, or 3. Both my mother and father don’t leave the Philippines, but still […]
Let’s dive deep into my mind as it was on July 6, 2006, and revisit the time I dubbed the quarterlife crisis: I came home yesterday evening to two celebrations along my street: pro-French World Cup fanatics on Boulevard St. Denis, and the ever-present pro-Portuguese mob at the corner of […]
Somehow, in my writing about Danshui, a seaside town in Taiwan, I ended up on my blog from way back. It wasn’t even called a blog then . . . it was an “online diary.” My virtual vault of musings from 2001 to 2006, this diary is extremely personal, and […]