The First

WARNING: The links in this post contain nasty things no one should ever say explicit language.

A long, long time ago, when Weston was a fetus, and I had an actual job where I got paid and everything, I used to occasionally sit in my Government-issued cube and peruse a now-defunct child-free rants page (link is to an archived sample of the rants that went up by the dozens every day). These charming folks are the ones who call parents 'breeders' and children all sorts of nasty names that would NEVER be repeated on Stories from Korea, not the regular nice child-free people, in case there is any confusion.

I'm not really sure why I read the page, or how I happened across it in the first place. The posters were bitter, angry people who could take a legitimate point and twist it beyond all recognition, alternately blaming babies, parents, pregnant people, infertility treatments, neonatal care and family-friendly policies for their poor financial situations, lousy parking spots and crappy jobs. Their demented ravings kept me coming back, though- I just couldn't wait to see what those zany wackaloons would come up with next. Often, one of them would post a link to something, and then all the rest of them would go check it out and gang up. Then they'd move on to something else like a pack of snarling hyenas.

One day, they were ranting about Julie at A Little Pregnant. She had the absolute gall to both require IVF to conceive, and to have the financial resources to fund it. Clearly, the hyenas thought, she was irredeemably selfish and it was typically unfair of the universe to waste money on her that they so richly deserved. I clicked over there, too, and read this post; the first one ever and the genesis of my current raging case of blogaholism.

What was your first?

On writing

Sometimes, I get the greatest compliments on my writing on here, which I LOVE. Not all that often, and mostly from my dad, but still. I find some satisfaction in writing, but it takes effort and the occasional accolade keeps me going. I used to write a lot more. All kinds of things: magazine article proposals, adult fiction, even some children's stories.

I liked writing fiction, sort of. It felt like the stories were just coming out of the ether, into my brain and out onto my computer screen. I always wanted to know what was going to happen next. Then, when I found out what was going to happen, the writing all of a sudden seemed like a lot more work, and I didn't always finish the stories.

But the coolest part was how the stories magically appeared. I can force words onto the page, too, but usually that leads to some sort of plot disaster I can't write my way out of. I really thought the stories were divine inspiration. This idea was reinforced when I heard a famous songwriter say almost the exact same thing about how the songs just came to him. Songwriting is a talent that really impresses me, by the way. I do not get how someone can write poetry and match it to music that doesn't exist yet.

When I was in college, I took a literature course and read a quote from Toni Morrison. I'm paraphrasing here because I can't remember the exact wording and I'm too lazy to look for it. She said something like: 'You have to finish your work all at once, or the seams start to show'. At the time, I thought it was very strange and I didn't get why you couldn't just drop a project and come back to it later, like a sewing project. But now, I totally understand it. So, here I am, with my magical gift and on the same page with the great Toni Morrison. I'm so special! Or so I thought.

Unfortunately, I was forced to change my mind about the divine origin of the stories a few years ago after I heard someone else say the same thing about the stories coming to her from out of nowhere. I read her stories and they were truly awful. I wanted to say, 'Sweetie, God did not give you these stories. I don't know who it was, but you need to give them right back.' I didn't say that, of course, because I'm a nice person. Instead, I said, 'Hmmm, those are something else all right!'. Not dissimilar to what I hear about some of my posts, now that I think about it.

Clearly, logic dictates that if her stories aren't God-given, mine probably aren't either. I guess I'm just a hack, after all. But a hack with a nice father.

It's hard to be me

Yesterday, I wrote a post called 'The Waiting is the Hardest Part,' and it presents a fairly dreary look at Osan. I like it, though, and I was going to put it right up, but then I thought, 'What if someone gets up in a cheery mood here at Osan, gets her morning coffee and sits down to read Stories from Korea and is reminded how much it sucks here? It might ruin her whole day.' That's not something I want on my conscience! THEN I thought, 'But it's my blog, I can write what I want!' And then I thought I should make a secret blog and I can write whatever I want and no one will be the wiser. But it's no fun to write a blog if no one reads it. See how hard it is to be me?

Anyone else have a problem like this? I think I have a solution. This is not my original idea; I saw it somewhere and thought it was brilliant. If you have something you want to post but can't do it on your own blog, send it to me, anonymously if you want, and I'll post it for you! As long as it's not nasty; Stories from Korea does have some standards. It can be about anything: Mother-in-law driving you crazy? Hate the Air Force? Is your neighbor too noisy late at night? Share it here and get it off your chest!