I originally started this particular blog in 2012, because I was following some stupid rules about how best to be a successful author and promote your book, blah blah blah (Not going to beat that dead horse, but if anyone is interested in the only one I’ve completed and published, explore a little and you’ll find it…) and of course, blogging about it was one of those things. But the truth is, there are millions of blogs out there, and who the hell reads blogs besides other writers of blogs? Oh, perhaps you stumble upon one or two when you are bored silly and randomly start pulling up Facebook posts of people you barely know who have somehow become the most important people in the Facebook feed due to that mystery algorithm? But mostly, the people who read blogs are the people who write them. Which is a crying shame, because there are many very wonderful blogs out there.
As I’ve also mentioned, this was not the first blog I started, nor the first blog that I abandoned… I abandoned this blog for over two years. I did more of my online over-sharing on Facebook like everyone else. From time to time, I’d write a “note” that 3 of my 600 friends would read, like, and comment on.
I found the Minuteman’s Wife blog that I started when the ex was deployed from the Individual Ready Reserve (hence the title…) and it was like a trip back in time to a place that always makes me ask myself if I was drunk for 13 years, but no, I don’t drink alcoholic beverages often enough or in large enough quantities (two sips usually gives me instant migraine) so I can’t even make that excuse.
There was one other blog out there, and I found it last night. It was through Live Journal, and it was not written in Cyrillic, so nobody will ever find it or read it. But I was enough into it to make 48 entries. 48! Each of those entries was a fake diary entry of a possibly mentally unhinged woman. A woman who woke up in a hospital to find that somehow, her life has shifted into another dimension of what might have been if she had done something different years earlier. Kind of a tale of a character like Emma speaking up instead of remaining silent in the scene where Robert passive-aggressively pushes her to prove that he’s messing with her mind.
The protagonist in the Live Journal story was named Jane. The antagonist? Robert. And… without even thinking, I’ve named the cheating husband in the Friday Fiction series Rob. What’s up with that? No, I am NOT a Robert Pattinson fan…
I’ve known some people named Rob/Robert, but nope, never dated any that I can recall. But it was the name of the grandfather I never met, my father’s father. And I like to use family names. Beyond that? No idea.
I have a friend named Kathy who said a while back that she always names her characters “Dave.” She named her Great Dane “Dave” as well. Just something about a name?
Of course, all names have meanings. The meaning for the name Robert is “bright fame.” I knew the “Bert” part was Bright – my great grandfather’s name was Cuthbert. What I did not know until just now is that the two names are basically the same. I used the name “Cuthbert” for a middle name for one of my boys.
Maybe my incessant use of the name “Robert” is a sign that I’m seeking bright fame? Perhaps… but I don’t want to deal with Paparazzi.
I wasn’t even thinking when I named the character in Lost and Found – I was just thinking in terms of giving names that don’t match any of the people in my immediate family or circle of friends.
I do think I am going to go through the Live Journal Fictional Blog and rework it, because I like the idea, which is from the notion that alternate planes of reality are created for each choice we make. Perhaps, last night, when that deer ran right in front of my van and I slammed on the brakes and missed it, another “me” didn’t hit the brakes fast enough, hitting the deer, setting off faulty airbags in my van that sent shards of metal into my heart and lungs, killing me or causing years of recovery. Hooray, melodrama.
Sometimes I do that, though – I think about the what-ifs. What if I left the house ten minutes earlier/later, and it put me at the wrong place at the wrong time? Or the right place at the right time? What if I had changed my major not from Russian but to English with an emphasis on Creative Writing? Would I be doing different things now, or would I still have found myself on the Law School to stay-at-home-mom track? What if, what if, what if?
It’s the meaning of life, isn’t it? Free Will vs. Fate. Is there some overreaching pattern that WILL be created, despite our choices, or do we wind around and create our own picture in the end? Maybe, no matter what choices we make, each path leads to the same place in the end. And there you have it, the spoiler alert: everybody dies in the end.
When I rework the alternate dimension story, I am going to change the name of the male lead character. I’m not sure what his name will be yet. Perhaps Cuthbert? Or maybe “Hopcyn.” 😉