Skip to main content

Memory Lane with a Grumpy Woman.

The Dawn of Misty Dreams by Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour; 2018.

I've been thinking about the internet and how it's changed over time, and how my use of it has changed too. Around 17 years ago, purely out of curiosity, I took a Learn Direct course which promised to be an 'Introduction to the Internet'. I quickly became hooked on this strange new world where the creativity of total strangers provided a seemingly infinite variety of entertainment.

Intrigued, I set out on a journey of exploration which not only made research for my novels easy but also brought me into the world of RPGs. I won't reveal which characters I played, or on which boards our games were played out. That would spoil the mystery - and mystery was all part of the fun. As a talented co-player, Tristan, once told me, "If I wanted reality, I'd go to my parish."

We used message boards and linked LiveJournal blogs to these; role-played in Yahoo! IM till dawn broke. We created long and complex stories, co-writing with people whose legal names we'd never know and who certainly we'd never meet. Inevitably there were occasional fireworks, but negative drama was easily counterbalanced by escapist fun.

Then social networking washed over the scene. The masks provided by pseudonyms were removed. Now everyone has to be aware that the world will read online profiles and posts. Everyone's "real" - except that much of it isn't real simply because it's all so guarded.

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.
Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
Oscar Wilde.
 
Three Blue Boats by Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour; 2018.

The internet is older now, and so am I. No longer do people say, "Wow! Do you really have a computer in your home? But what can you do with it apart from maths?"
 
Like many, I've tried more sites than I've stayed with. Twitter is one I never did take to. Facebook, to me, is increasingly dull, even if I ignore their dubious marketing policies - not that all other social networks aren't also exploiting their subscribers as a means of making money, (which is what every business exists for). Some old sites are like ghost towns now, despite having once been The Cool Place to be. Well, you remember what old Lao Tse said about change, hmm?
 
Sunset City by Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour; 2018.

Ok, so websites now look more sophisticated, if also homogeneous and predictable, than they used to, but there was something much more individualistic about those old DIY make-your-eyes-bleed graphics of the earlier internet. The internet used to be an anarchic hot bed of creativity; of people doing battle with HTML. Now all anyone need do is pick a ready-made layout and choose between several shades of the same design. Add an icon with huge eyes and no nose and it's a "Manga" theme. Add a handsome-but-dead guy and the same thing is transformed to "gothic". Flowers = girly; stars or dolphins = new age; winter trees = thoughtful; city skyline = office bore. Take your pick of nothing much, then post a photo of beans on toast and you're all done.


Comments

Anonymous said…
I would like to thank you for the efforts you have put in writing this blog.
I am hoping the same high-grade web site post from you
in the upcoming as well. Actually your creative writing skills has encouraged me to
get my own blog now. Actually the blogging is spreading its
wings rapidly. Your write up is a good example of it.
Thank you; and I wish you well in creating your own blog.

Popular posts from this blog

A Cure for Aging?

"All that we profess to do is but this, - to find out the secrets of the human frame; to know why the parts ossify and the blood stagnates, and to apply continual preventatives to the effort of time.  This is not magic; it is the art of medicine rightly understood.  In our order we hold most noble -, first, that knowledge which elevates the intellect; secondly, that which preserves the body.  But the mere art (extracted from the juices and simples) which recruits the animal vigour and arrests the progress of decay, or that more noble secret which I will only hint to thee at present, by which heat or calorific, as ye call it, being, as Heraclitus wisely taught, the primordial principle of life, can be made its perpectual renovator...." Zanoni, book IV, chapter II, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, first published in 1842. Oroboros keyring - Spooky Cute Designs The idea of being able to achieve an immortal life is probably as old as human life itself.  Folklore and myt...

Remembering Richie Tattoo Artist's Studio

Richard in the street entrance to his tattoo studio in Liverpool. The vertical sign next to Richard is now in the Liverpool Tattoo Museum. Yesterday, my sister Evelyn, Richard and myself stood outside Richard's old tattoo studio and looked up at the few remaining signs, whose paint has now mostly flacked away to reveal bare wood. On the studio's window are stick-on letters which read, "Art", where once it boldly announced his presence as the city's only "Tattoo Artist".  I can remember him buying that simple plastic lettering from an old-fashioned printer's shop. This was in 1993, not long after he'd opened the studio and before he could afford better signs. After he'd patiently stuck them onto the glass we realised that from the outside the sign read "Artist Tattoo", so we had to carefully peel the letters off the window and have another go, laughing over having made such an obvious error yet worried in case we spoiled the letteri...

Dear Diary...

Do you keep a diary? Why did you start it, and, if you started one then stopped, why was that? What sort of things do (or did) you write about? I ask as, as a long-time diarist myself, there is an interesting piece in The Guardian today which talks about one woman's diary habit, which she began at the age of fourteen. I started a diary around that age too, but destroyed it after my mother accused me of using cocaine.  A stern scene followed, with both parents perched ram-rod straight in their armchairs, while I was subjected to a heated inquisition. Where had I bought it, and who from? Didn't I know such things led to death and doom? I struggled to decipher their bewildering accusations, until Mum blurted out, "I read it in your diary!" To find my diary, Mum would first have had to rummage through my dressing table, obviously when I wasn't around to protest. Her intrusion on my privacy was assumed by both parents to be acceptable, and now, with this handwritten c...