Posts from — June 2015

I’m not a huge fan of murder mysteries in general* — I have never, for example, watched CSI — but Josh and I have been sucked into the new game, Her Story, which came out on June 24th.  You can play it on the computer or any device.  Plus you need paper.  Lots and lots of paper.

So the game is essentially 200 video clips.  They range from a few seconds to about a minute in length.  I think the longest one we’ve found thus far has been 42 seconds.  A woman has been interviewed 7 times by the police about the disappearance of her husband.  You are watching footage from the 7 interviews.

The game starts out with 4 videos in the queue under the search term “murder.”  You watch them, jotting down keywords that you’ll want to explore more.  For example, let’s say that she referenced a red dress in one of the videos, you could then search the database for “red dress,” and it will bring up every other video that contains a reference to a red dress.  Maybe there will be zero other references to a red dress, or maybe you’ll see that there are 10 other videos where she discusses the red dress.  If it’s the former, you know that it’s probably not an important clue.  If it’s the latter, you may want to explore it further.

At the same time, you take notes, just like any detective.  Josh and I have pages of names and dates and small things we noticed in the videos — times she looked down or made a face or was wearing something (or not).  You can also tag the videos in order to easily find them again in the future.  But the paper notes are key.  Especially because after our first session, Josh and I accidentally erased all of our tags and restarted the game.  Ooops.

A heads up that there may be a few triggers for you in the game.  I would say more, but I don’t want to spoil anything.  The interesting thing about the game is that depending on what you search for first, your investigation will go in a completely different direction.  And you’ll form opinions and get attached to certain ideas.  So… just know that there have been some references to things that may be triggers for this community.  But if you can handle Gone Girl, you can handle this.

So essentially, you’re like Sarah Koenig, looking over all the footage in a case and trying to figure out who committed the murder.  And like Serial, I’ve heard that it doesn’t have a clean wrap-up, but is more like real life where you think you know who did it, but you’re reconstructing what happened based on what is said and clues.

If you’re playing Her Story, let me know because I want to talk about this with people.  Because it’s really really really creepy.

* The exception is Sherlock Holmes.  I love those stories.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

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Nathan Bransford asked a question a few months ago that comes up again and again and again on the Internet, but it’s a good one:

When it comes to your creative work (in this case, a book), “would you take money or an award?”

It’s popularity or prestige. It’s fame or skill. It’s money or accolades. You only get one.

Pick your poison.  I mean… uh… reward.

Would you rather have your creative work sell like hotcakes while you’re alive but burn out and be forgotten in the future, or have your work not sell well but stand the test of time?

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Are you also doing #MicroblogMondays? Add your link below. The list will be open until Tuesday morning. Link to the post itself, not your blog URL. (Don’t know what that means? Please read the three rules on this post to understand the difference between a permalink to a post and a blog’s main URL.) Only personal blogs can be added to the list. I will remove any posts that are connected to businesses or are sponsored posts.

Normally on the 28th of the month, I post the new IComLeavWe list.  For over 7 years, we’ve come together to celebrate the almighty comment for one week each month.  But the project has run its course.  I can’t say that this is forever, but for the time being, IComLeavWe is going to go live on the farm.

It’s really hard for me to write that.  I’ve closed a lot of projects over the last 9 years, but none have felt as personal as this one.  I love comments.  I love writing them, I love receiving them, I love reading comments on other people’s personal blogs.

Celebrating commenting is how I chose to celebrate my blogoversary back in 2008.  It was originally called NaComLeavMo for National Comment Leaving Month.  It ran from May 25th to June 25th.  214 participated in the first one.

We had so much fun that I decided to host it monthly.  The name changed to IComLeavWe — get it?  I Come [Alone, but I] Leave [as Part of a] We.  International Comment Leaving Week.  It’s been kicking around monthly ever since.

My hope is that one day I notice an uptick in comments, and it makes me wonder if the time is ripe to host IComLeavWe again.  And that we all get back together to talk about each other’s posts.

A major thank you to all the Iron Commenters over the years.

Thank you to everyone who signed up and commented during one (or more) of those almost 90 months of IComLeavWes.

Side note: tomorrow is #MicroblogMonday.  Get writing.

Thank you for the blogoversary wishes as well as proving me wrong with the 14 comments statement.

It is an accomplishment to write in the same space almost daily for 9 years. And sort of bizarre to think about.  When I started this space, I had no clue that it would continue like this.  But it’s hard to stop when it feels part of your very being.  Like an organ that floats around outside the body.

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I didn’t say anything about Father’s Day last week, but I really loved Chris Hardwick’s post about the holiday.  Especially this part:

Honestly, this day is a little weird for me. Sure, it’s a greeting card holiday, but now one that carries more weight with me than when I was young, ignorantly blissful and had a wealth of dads—a wonderful father (Billy), and equally amazing stepfather (Jim), two grandfathers (Jim & Hugh) and even one 96 year old Italian great-grandfather (Alfonso). Now they’re all gone and yes, I’m sad. I’m not trying to whine about it or bum you out. I simply want you to be cognizant of the people you have and appreciate them while you are able.

The piece is well-written because it so clearly comes from his heart.  And I love his advice to be a person that you would be proud of — as in, not focusing on what others think about you, but instead focus on what you think about you.

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Stop procrastinating.  Go make your backups.  Don’t have regrets.

Seriously.  Stop what you’re doing for a moment.  It will take you fifteen minutes, tops.  But you will have peace of mind for days and days.  It’s the gift to yourself that keeps on giving.

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments in order to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

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And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “My Daughter Is Infertile: A Father’s Perspective” (Waiting for Baby Bird)
• “Self Identity and Perception” (Persnickety Chickadee)
• “MicroblogMondays: First Kiss” (Searching for a Silver Lining)

Okay, now my choices this week.

There’s a post on BlogHer about things the author would tell her younger self about IVF.  I highlighted it in the Health section because I liked how it showed how we can shed our long-held beliefs when faced with different facts.  It’s a testament to the fact that we have that ability: to have our opinions evolve.  It gives me hope.  And I love that she told her younger self to ignore the stories coming out of Hollywood.

Finding My New Normal has a post about why she can’t befriend people who have children who are the age her child should have been.  She writes: “I’m sure you are a lovely person, but you have a child who will turn 5 this summer so we can’t be friends.  After all this time you would think I could look past it, but I can’t.”  It’s a moving piece.

Lastly, in honour of Father’s Day, Middle Girl recounts the best day she had with her father.  It’s a beautiful moment in a difficult relationship, a small island she can mentally go to that is part of the larger story.  I was grateful that she shared it with us.

The roundup to the Roundup: Thank you for the blogoversary wishes.  A thought-provoking Father’s Day piece.  Your weekly backup nudge.  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between June 19th and June 26th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

9 years ago, I started this blog.  I feel like I’m supposed to say something profound to mark the occasion.  Explain how I’ve kept up almost daily writing for 9 straight years without a break.  But I don’t really know how I’ve done it except show up.

I show up, every day, at this space.  95% of the time, I write something.  And about 80% of the time, I also post something.  I write a lot more than I post.  I don’t know why.  Sometimes I just need to write something and other times I need other people to read what I’ve written in order to release it.  And then there are other times when I have nothing to write but I really need someone to read.  It’s very complicated, this word thing.

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Nathan Bransford wrote recently about missing the blogosphere.  One part of me completely understood what he meant.  2007 – 2009 was a different time in the blogging world.  This blogoversary post is a case in point.  On my second blogoversary, even though my readership was less than a third of what it is now, I received 117 comments.  Lots of people were celebrating with me; we celebrated each other’s spaces.  This year, I’m guessing I’ll get around 14 comments.  Maybe?  The way we talk to each other online has changed.

And then another part of me doesn’t miss the blogosphere because it’s all still here.  It’s different, yes, but I always have blog posts to read.  There are always people out there, expressing themselves.  You do need to be out there yourself to find them, but as long as you are still clicking through people’s comment section and finding new bloggers, your feed reader will always be full.

It’s sort of like picking strawberries.  In the middle of the season, the strawberries are easy to pick and you can go home with so many strawberries that you don’t know what to do with all of them.  Some inadvertently end up rotting before you can turn them into jam.  But right now, we’re closer to the end of the season.  The strawberries are a little harder to find, but when you do, they are sweet and bright red.  Maybe you cherish and use them a little better because they took a little more work to find.

Luckily, things have a way of coming back around, so I’m hopeful there will be another beginning, middle, and end of blogging season again and again and again if we continue to replant and tend the rows.

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Or maybe you just read that and thought, “Melissa is such a fool!  She thinks this blogging thing has a future.”

I do.

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All I know is that I need this space.  That this space completes some missing puzzle piece in my heart, and I need to keep writing it regardless of whether any other blog exists in the future.  It feels like home as much as my home feels like home.  It feels like a part of who I am, how I define myself.

It’s something I need; in the same way that I need hugs and books and flashlights.  None of those things are akin to water or food or air, but they are things I need to feel comfortable.  I need my body to be touched and my mind to be challenged and my fears to assuaged by hugs and books and flashlights.  And somewhere in there, I need a space where I can write that is entirely within my control.

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So that’s it.  Not very profound.  Maybe not as eloquent as I’ve been on other blogoversaries.  But it’s what I felt like saying, and I can do that because this blog is a me-shaped space.

Thank you for being here with me in this me-shaped space.