Could the Voter ID Experiment Be Any More Ridiculous?

First, a 96 year old woman can’t get her voter ID because, and I quote, “We may have been able to make some phone calls from the center to verify what her married name is. She is saying it’s Cooper, but her birth certificate does not list Cooper as her married name.”

This raises a question. Do the people charged with identifying correct paperwork necessary for someone to vote actually know what said correct documentation would actually include? I mean, how the hell would Cooper’s birth certificate (which, shoot, let’s give it up for an almost century old black woman even having a birth certificate) have her married name on it?

But there’s also another question Jennifer Donnals’ interview with Woods raises. If they can “work with” Cooper to get the correct documentation, does that not suggest that there is no set documentation? That some bureaucrat somewhere just decides if you get to vote or not based on a whim of whether he’ll accept whatever documentation you might have. How can there not be set documentation?

But just when you thought that Donnals had to have set the record for most ludicrous things to be said on the matter, along comes State Representative Debra Maggart to tell us all about how “those people” already have IDs or else how would they get their beer and cigarettes. You know, “those people,” who sit around smoking and drinking and… I don’t know, being 96 years old?

So, This is Weird

I was sitting here at my desk this morning just working away, getting ready for this meeting that I’m afraid is going to complicate my life this afternoon, when I get an email from my dad. Attached is something he’s written, a kind of descriptive non-fiction thing about when things are scariest. I honestly wasn’t even sure that he liked “The Witch’s Friend,” I mean, I thought he did, but he did say that he felt like it ended abruptly.

But he read something I wrote and wrote something in response.

In other words, he was inspired by me. Inspired to tell a story.

This literally makes me shake. I love my dad and I know he’s proud of me. But this is different.

I don’t know.

It’s really weird.

And I’m sure we will some how fuck it up between the two of us.

But for a second, I really felt like my dad was showing me something of himself he otherwise never would have.

Crack Dealing as Business Model

Yesterday someone said “I cant believe you give this stuff away for free” talking about “The Witch’s Friend.” Frankly–heh–I’m still in shock that someone paid me for “Frank.” Floundering around all summer with “Flock,” trying to figure out what to do with it and how, it was/is, to put it mildly, not easy. I think “Flock” is great. I’ve read other books this summer that I thought “Flock” was as good as.

So, you know, it’s hard. You start to wonder if you’re wrong about your own talent, if you’re right about your talent, but lack the skills to sell it. Or hell, people, you could have talent, mad selling skills, and you still have to luck out and find the person who says “Yep, I love this, too.” It’s like being nearsighted and trying to thread a needle across the room from you.

But mostly, being me, I just think I’m probably not as good a writer as I need to be in order to achieve my goals. And that’s depressing.

So, I joke and say that I give stuff away because I want it to be like crack, that you get some for free, you get hooked, and later you’re willing to pay for it. and you know, on my best days, when I’m metaphorically strutting into the ring like Jerry Lawler, I do feel that way.

But mostly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m floundering, here. Not in a bad way, but just in a “let’s acknowledge it” way. I really like “The Witch’s Friend.” I enjoyed writing it. I like rereading it now (though I go back and forth on the first part, honestly. I think it’s important for thematic reasons, but I don’t know that I like it as much as the other parts.). And we have a tradition here at Octobers.

It didn’t occur to me to try to sell it. I mean, to whom? It’s a novella, basically. S. mentioned that it might be a good fit for a Kindle edition of some sort and I think that may be a good home for it. Later.

I guess what I’m trying to get at here–and doing a bad job–is that my writing has benefited tremendously from blogging. I intend to continue to honor the traditions we have, for as long as they’re not burdensome. I like having readers who are interested in what I write and are happy to read along as I test my wings and try different things.

If there’s a shift to be made to “I should be getting paid,” I haven’t made it in my head yet. In part, because it seems like the world so strongly disagrees about “Flock.” I’m still in the “I would like to be getting paid, maybe someday” mindset.

But even then, even if I do get paid someday to do this–well, not this. But writing fiction. And yes, “Frank” I know. So, if getting paid becomes more regular, I still like sharing with y’all. And I guess I will continue to do that for as long as I like it.

If it’s stupid to not try to convert your audience into paying customers at the same time you’re trying to convert yourself into someone who’s getting paid, then I guess I’m that kind of stupid. Which, you know, doesn’t bode well. Ha ha ha ha ha.