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For those of
you who don’t know me in real life, you likely have no idea what I mean when I say
I’m a culture nerd. That’s okay. I plan on telling you exactly what I mean
today. Get ready to nod off. I feel like thought-dumping all over the blog
today. Or would it be spewing? The one thing I know is this jumble of thoughts is
coming out. I will try to keep it short, but no promises.
I’m a
culture nerd because that’s what I studied in both my undergraduate days and
while I was I graduate school. That’s right. I studied American culture. I studied
it from a psychological perspective, I studied it from an anthropological perspective,
and then I dove fully into the pool and got my master’ in American Culture
Studies. Please note that I didn’t get my degree in American Studies—which is
more along the lines of the history and literature of America (which IS good
stuff), but in American CULTURE Studies, which means I fashion myself to be
something like a social scientist.
Right now,
you’re likely thinking that I have now informed you there’s a line of inquiry
more pointless than a philosophy degree. I would beg to differ-- there are lots
of ways to be employed with a culture studies degree, and they are not all at
the Smithsonian Institute.
Also, I’ve
always like philosophy majors, so don’t diss them.
EVERYTHING
we do, EVERY day, is influenced by the enculturation we have received in our
lives, to date. Culture tells us how to act, how to respond, how to think, how
to process new ideas and experiences—it tells us almost everything. Human
beings give up animal instincts by the 18th month of life, and we
rely on culture a lot from there on out. Granted, biology and genetics has its
role, but—in my mind at least—culture is king. I like to study the recurring parts
of culture we respond to but don’t always understand (sometimes this is called
the myth and symbol school), and I like to study the new culture that is made
when people interact with one another (called symbolic interactionism).
Yesterday I had
reason to pull up an old article from my grad school days in order to help a
student. It was a paper on textual analysis—which is one method researchers use
to study culture—especially if they are qualitative researchers (I fashion myself
a qualitative researcher). As I was reading McKee’s article (he literally wrote
the book on how to do a textual analysis, and I love that he talks to us like a
normal person would do in everyday conversation) I came across a chunk that has
smacked me in the face time and again. I won’t bore you with quoting McKee, but
he basically says that in order to understand the significance of anything in
culture (as a researcher—but as a normal person as well, I would hazard) you
must immerse yourself in everything. Books, movies, music, news, pop culture,
the internet—everything.
I’ve been
craving culture. Movies. Books. Music. News. I’ve been feeling guilty about
giving in to these cravings, because there’s so much to do at work and at home
right now. Every time I give in and buy a new CD or download a new book or watch
OnDemand I feel like crap because I could be school shopping or grading or
cleaning out the closets.
McKee tells
me, in one paragraph, that I need to be immersed sometimes. That these cravings
deserve to be fulfilled because the process of immersion is important. I thought about this for the remainder of the
day yesterday. It led me to another realization—and this is where we get to the
point of the post, I promise—I’ve gotten a bit off track here on my blog.
This little chunk
of the internet was created with the intention of chronicling our ascent to
bliss. I know, I know; I’ve always loved being dramatic. There are ups and
downs in life, and we’ve experienced some downs as of late, but the upward trajectory
remains the same. My goal was to chronicle it, so that I could start reminding
myself that life doesn’t always suck. Which was a hard thing for me to grasp
back in 2008 and 2009. For the most part, I’ve accomplished that goal and kept
to the main point of this blog—detailing the wonder in our life right now—marking
down the moments of my children’s lives I’m afraid the years will wash out, describing
the thoughts and experiences that seem so important to us in this day and time,
etc. But I’ve also been narrower than I should’ve been—so while, on the
outside, it appears that I’ve remained on track—I’ve realized that I’m not
really on track at all. It’s not just about the funny things Ant says or the
vacation we took or even how I feel about today’s politics or anything else. I
am not giving you the full scope of what’s important in our lives—in my life—right
now.
One part of the
problem (hectic summer schedule aside) I’ve been experiencing in posting here (on
a regular basis, at least) is that I’m writing other things as well. I write
for Sprocket Ink (and I’m not willing to give that up—because it helps justify my
desire to immerse in pop culture about Katie Holmes and Octomom and all the
other things) and I write here, and then I write fiction. Which I haven’t been
sharing with anyone, for a multitude of reasons:
1)
The first
reason is that I’m afraid it sucks. Which I think is usually the top reason for
anyone who writes and doesn’t share it with another living soul.
2)
Because I always
wimp before I hit 20,000 words. I have great ideas for books, can outline them
out, start writing, and then something (usually myself) derails me from ever
finishing a damn project.
3)
Because it
doesn’t fit. I’ve been hesitant to do a lot of things on this blog. That
statement itself is fodder for another entire post, but the gist is that I’ve
felt the scope of this blog wouldn’t accommodate serial fiction of unknown
quality.
I have set
myself up in a way where I have at least three major writing projects going on
at any given point in time (not counting work) and no overlap. I think fellow
bloggers/writers may agree with me—there are only so many words you can write
in a day. In a week. In a month. So, if I keep posting at Sprocket Ink, and I happen
to be excited (for the moment) about a fiction idea, then this blog suffers. Or
if I’m excited about something here, then the fiction suffers. Because I only
have so much time and so many words, and I’ve always thought these three things
should not overlap.
Realization told
me yesterday this is a lie I’ve been feeding to myself to continue justifying
hiding the other things I do. If I would post some of my fiction—or even talk
about my writing—I would be presenting a more accurate picture of my life here,
I might even get some (free!) critique on my writing, and—here’s the big part—posting
serially may even keep me on track to actually FINISH SOMETHING, FOR ONCE IN MY
LIFE!
That would
be nice, wouldn’t it? I bet you’re hoping I finish this post sometime soon.
All of the
above is to explain a major change that is coming to the blog. I am going to
start posting fiction. I am going to
give it a page up above, and then link to serial sections, and then you can
read it, and tell me if I suck, or if I’m awesome (especially if you are a book
agent, or know one), and if J is right and aliens are the new zombies (just
like zombies were the new vampires two years ago). I don’t know exactly when
you can expect to see this new stuff, but I’m shooting for the next couple of
days. I don’t know what my schedule will be for posting it, and I don’t know if
perhaps I will just hide behind the loveseat in my living room waiting for the
trolls to come and laugh at me, but I will try to make this a regular thing,
and have some structure, and what I really want from those who read is for you
to KEEP ME ACCOUNTABLE. Seriously.
Sometimes a
girl needs someone tailing her ass in order to get a project done, just like
she needs to brain dump all over her blog for her sanity.
And if you
made it to this—the second to last sentence of this post—then you deserve a gold
star!
Fellow bloggers: Is your blog a completely
open representation of who you are in any given moment, or do you sometimes use
it as a wall to hide part of yourself—like I do?
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