I have a complicated relationship with technology. For a really long time I was an early adopter. I had my first PC in 1986, I met my partner online in 1991, I had an online journal in 1995 and a podcast in 2005. And then one day I was reading a book and all I could think about were my phone notifications. I started making deals with myself, like, “As soon as you finish this page, you can pick up your phone…”
I hated that feeling. I hated it so much I got rid of my phone. And it worked! Reading was joyful again. For a long time, for years, I was able to function without a phone. But as time passed, restaurant menus turned phone-only. Payphones vanished. I couldn’t use online banking because the website required verification on my non-existent phone. When I had to rush our elderly cat to the emergency vet without any way to get in touch with my partner, I broke. I got a phone. I promised myself it would be different this time.
And it was different, for awhile, but the screen-time creep was insidious. It started with looking at people’s sewing projects on Instagram. For an hour a day. Three. Five. I checked out e-books from the library and read them on my phone, and what do you know? “As soon as you finish this page, you can check your notifications…” And it wasn’t just the time wasted reading notifications and following up on them. It was the absence of a notification. The absence of any kind of response. The longer I spent on my phone without getting any notifications, the worse I felt about myself. I was playing Whack-A-Mole with my obsessive screen time, making promises to myself about limiting the number of minutes I spent on my phone that I inevitably broke, and all the while my reading time shrank while my phone time grew.
So I made a list of the reasons I picked up my phone. First, I made my phone a pain in the neck to get to. I buried it in my backpack, where I keep it regardless of whether I’m home or not. I deleted my Instagram account. I switched to paper books only. I started buying MP3s and playing them on an old player with no internet access. I hunted down a used compact camera. With every change I made, my phone got more boring, and then I had a close look at my phone plan. Turns out it was cheaper to buy my way out of my contract, downgrade my plan, return my phone, and use an old phone I found in a drawer than to wait out my contract.
So that’s what I’m doing. The old phone has two apps on it: email (I teach in-person classes and need to be reachable) and messages (for that old bugaboo, online banking). Getting it out of my backpack is about as tempting as going to the dentist. These days my free time looks like this: reading, sewing, writing stories, walking outside, reading, standing in lines at stores making notes in my pocket paper notebook for stories I want to write, daydreaming, reading, reading, reading.
sewing crabby seagulls
I’ve always struggled to find fabric patterns that are genderless. My ideal shirt or pants has sharp geometric lines that don’t have any connection to gender at all. Even learning to sew hasn’t fixed this issue, since of course fabric stores carry the patterns that are most likely to sell. I recently found the site Pattern Designs, which features patterns human beings have created, available for anyone to buy. Once I found this AWESOME crabby seagulls pattern, I bought it and sent it off to Art Fabrics to be printed. I’m over the moon to have discovered this site. These are the genderless patterns I’ve wanted to wear my entire life.
latest flash fiction
| Flash Frog |
| I was in a writing workshop and the facilitator showed us an image of a child who looked like he was from a toothpaste commercial peeking out of a tube in a playground. The kid gave me the creeps, and though his hands weren’t visible in the photo I knew exactly what he was holding. This piece, in Flash Frog, is the story I wrote about that kid. I’m wildly proud of it. Click here to read the story. |
| Matchbook |
| Like all of us, I’m sad and scared and angry about everything that’s happening in the world right now. This story is an attempt to talk about my fears. Fun fact: though my much-missed mom has been gone for over 15 years, she makes an appearance in almost every story I write. Here she is, of course, the Granny. Click here to read the story. |
Workshops
Don’t miss my upcoming workshops! Horror Without Blood, Unreliable Narrators, Parallel Lives and more!