Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Monthly Archives: June 2022

    • In Hiding

      Posted at 4:48 pm by kayewer, on June 25, 2022

      Even though we are human beings and have populated this planet for countless ages, we still seem to misunderstand ourselves. Sometimes we do so at our peril, when we make or break rules that are trying to keep us all safe.

      At the moment of birth, we begin the process of setting our lives in stone by designating names, or titles, or conditions. A boy born too early and too pudgy, or a girl born past her scheduled due date and too skinny. We put the newborn in a blue blanket or a pink one; we clothe them in cute outfits with patterns on them of animals, constellations or the local sports team.

      We take endless photos of them passively surrounded by baseball-themed toys or princess tiaras. Recently a woman had her infant’s ears pierced prior to discharge from the maternity ward. Perhaps infant tattooing will be next?

      We raise our children on our beliefs, or let them make their way blindly with no sense of order. Sometimes they are well-rounded, but at other times our children develop autism, anxiety, depression or behavioral issues. Still we plod on with the program of setting up who the kids are going to be. Our rules; their pain.

      At a certain age, we start establishing that the human body needs some parts to be hidden, particularly in the lower torso region. Females have the added burden of concealing their chest areas. And so the divide in the genders begins in earnest, at least for the children. Nobody reviews a thing with the adults, which is a separate problem we won’t discuss here.

      Schools receive mixed messages about what to teach children about their bodies. In my time, the girls were huddled into the auditorium, the windows blocked with paper shields, and we saw a few special films geared toward exposing us to the wonders of female maturity. As far as I know, the boys never received such an initiation about themselves. Women enter into a world of monthly scheduling, hiding and controlling body regions which must be kept hidden, and how to suddenly adapt to when boys enter into it all. And this happens in a vacuum, when puberty does not.

      Some parents are so against sex education, they send their children to schools in which it isn’t taught. And some people are so set against letting women learn anything, some never attend school at all. A body of water can separate the free from the oppressed in many parts of the world: in the United States, it’s sometimes just a state border. It is a tragedy that human ignorance is set by a wooden gavel hitting a wooden slab after robed, designated individuals decide an argument is settled one way or another.

      Throughout history, women have been given freedoms and had them taken away; we have been lesser citizens and then revered in cycles. It used to be women were offered courtesy; men would stand when we entered a room, or doors were held for us. Now it’s everybody (formerly man) for themselves.

      We were allowed to own property in some early cultures, but shunned from public view in others. We covered our faces with scarves or full-on hoods and robes. We did “let it all hang out” for a short while, which wasn’t such a good idea, but we did gain the right to vote.

      Knowledge is a vital part of what makes us human, regardless of gender. The freedom to become who we are meant to be is often stifled by the blind routines under which some people conduct their lives and raise their children, and it can differ from household to household. What is a crime in the house on the corner may not be in the prettiest home on the block. You are sharing your daily lives with both of them.

      Eventually, all the people take sides on what they want the world to be like. Sometimes the decisions we make are detrimental to certain groups. What we don’t need is to set up one gender or the other to be less than what they are the moment they enter this world; that is when the real damage begins.

      If a human being is now considered less because of being female, we’re all in big trouble.

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    • Ego Blasted

      Posted at 6:40 pm by kayewer, on June 18, 2022

      As a writer, I have worked for years to stay on top of my projects. My biggest one is my WIP (work in progress), which is likely to grow into a series. With the help of a supportive critique group, my writing is getting along well, and I decided to go on a writing retreat to focus on it outside the demands of work, paying bills, shopping, and trying to have a social life. I selected a vacation spot for a few days of nothing but writing. That way it didn’t matter if the weather was bad or not: I’d be sequestered in a little corner just writing away.

      Before getting to the vacation, however, I participated in a writer’s group meeting featuring two people in the publishing industry. They planned to discuss some basics and tips. That’s in the future for me, but it never hurts to get some advance advice.

      Imagine my shock when the publishers started talking about what doesn’t work in the industry, and I realized, to my horror, that they were describing me! I fit many of the descriptive caveats they were talking about, and then some. I had too few followers. My first installment was too long.

      I had to make sure my mouth didn’t drop open, or I didn’t start crying. Fortunately, I was on mute. But there I was, my face a neutral mask on the Zoom meeting screen, feeling like I was the writer formally known as. . . . a melted snowball in the seventh sub-basement of Hell. Hopeless.

      I never felt so depressed in my life. What was I writing a novel for, if it won’t make it out of the starting gate? Why should I continue risking arthritis in my hands typing away for no reason?

      Then I remembered that our founding fathers said we were given the right to pursue happiness, but it isn’t guaranteed. Besides, these were two people from an indie press, small and exclusive, so maybe my story would not apply anyway, at least not to them.

      My critique chapters have been written (more like revising right now) one set of 3,500 words at a time (that’s our group limit), so maybe I must dissect the story a bit shorter than I originally planned.

      It’s quite a shock to the system to hear some negative news a few days before you’re planning to do the very thing they said you shouldn’t bother doing. I don’t care.

      Some of the best works have come from the strangest of circumstances. Publishing a novel involves a bit of serendipity. Luck. Being in the right place, with the right manuscript, at the right time.

      I brushed away the detritus of criticism, and I have decided to continue.

      I’ve never been one to give up.

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    • The Walking Tour

      Posted at 2:50 pm by kayewer, on June 12, 2022

      The experienced walker can take on the length of a marathon–26.2 miles–in less than eight hours. I took on an estimated six-plus miles in New York City the other day, and my feet are killing me.

      I guess you could say 6.2 miles down and 26 to go.

      Don’t invite me to a marathon, unless you want me to cheer from the stands.

      Walking in the city is commonplace, and I’ve done it for years, but not that much. Normally my route circles a ten-block radius if I’m going to the theater, or a straight stroll if I am going to Lincoln Center.

      Naturally not all streets in New York City are in a straight line. Some are circles or meander off to one side or another, which I learned while trying to go to First Avenue. I passed through the normal countdown of designated hot spots, including Park Avenue and Avenue of the Americas. Then I would take a right turn down a street or two and move down another avenue again.

      I was dressed for Lincoln Center, so that meant “sensible” shoes instead of sneakers. My old faithful shoes, which had provided painless comfort forever, decided to rebel a quarter of the way to First Avenue, and I started feeling the telltale pains of a flayed blister. As I walked, I reminded myself that, to remedy the situation, I had to find something rare in the city: a place to sit down that didn’t involve buying anything. Not that I don’t want to support businesses, but it was between breakfast and lunch, and most places were not open yet, and the idea of tending my foot in a public building was rather icky.

      As I limped along, I passed a fellow sucking on a joint and blowing fragrant clouds, which made their way past me. So I was gimping along and smelled of weed. Not a great start to a day out.

      I finally found seating around a tree, within minutes of my destination, and applied a bandage. Fortunately I’m one of those pedestrians whose purse contains emergency everything. A park full of benches turned up two blocks later.

      My plan was to visit a small shop in the thirties somewhere, and I found it. It wasn’t going to open for two more hours, and I couldn’t wait that long, because I had to return to familiar territory before my show was scheduled. So much for making a small stop for a small shop. Maybe next time, in the fall, after I’ve bought some comfy sneakers that can pass for sensible shoes to the untrained eye. One must try to be fashionable at Lincoln Center, even if your feet kill you. Otherwise I would need a taxi ride, where it doesn’t matter if you wear sensible shoes. Just shoes that protect you from a cab floor.

      By the time I got home, after 14 1/2 hours, I felt as if I had used up my lifetime allotment of walking privileges, and feared I would never walk again. Fortunately my blister is healing, the legs are holding their own, and a thorough night’s sleep seems to have alleviated most of the physical damage from trying to navigate over six miles of the city.

      It’s estimated that, when a person is urged to walk 10,000 steps daily, I walked under 13,000 steps, so I carried over 3,000 to today. I’m going to need them if I’m going to get those fashionable sneakers.

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    • Suppose They Gave a Blog?

      Posted at 5:48 pm by kayewer, on June 4, 2022

      Keeping a blog is a responsibility, and I gladly take it on every week. Being a blogger in a world full of bloggers has one large problem in the way: making it worthwhile. Some people get no followers of their blog, while others have followers off the charts. I’m somewhere in the range that has no true meaning, because nobody looks at the people in eleventh place. Sometimes people are curious to find out who is at the very bottom of the popularity list, and it may not be that a blogger sitting in last place is a bad blogger, but they may have no wherewithal to obtain a massive following.

      Some people are natural people magnets; they blink double and hordes of people notice. Others could stand naked on a street corner and nobody would bat an eye. There is no true explanation for this phenomenon, but when you take on a task that requires recognition, like keeping a blog, the how and why do matter a great deal.

      My biggest issue right now is with Facebook (or should I say Meta). It appears I have been permanently banned from boosting my blog on my Facebook page. The first time it happened, I tried to determine the cause, and I figured out that, even though our world was dealing with a disease, I could not use terminology about it in my posts without being flagged. Let me give an example: let’s say the word “tingle” is associated with a global crisis, and I wrote something that ended with “while we’re dealing with this tingle.” Facebook put me in “jail” for a month just for using the word “tingle.” I didn’t give an opinion on “tingle,” and I didn’t post any false information about “tingle.” Still, mentioning it was apparently a naughty thing to do. Suddenly I found myself permanently banned from post boosts, so other than standing in a public place with a sandwich board with my page info on it, my ability to obtain more followers is a bust.

      A blogger without publicity at their fingertips is blogging for their own amusement, and that’s not what I originally set out to do. However, as anybody on the platform knows, trying to communicate with Meta is like standing on a soapbox and giving a speech; you’re lucky if anybody pays attention to you at all, unless you pay the audience. And I can’t even do that.

      So it looks like Meta doesn’t care about me or my money. Fortunately my readers care enough to view my posts every week, and I am grateful for all of you.

      The month of June will be more challenging than normal, so you may see a post on a Friday or Sunday on occasion, but I do intend to post as I’ve resolved to do, and I will be happy if three people read them. Or 30. Or 300 if I’m lucky.

      The thought of more zeros added to my viewership numbers is always a possibility. The anticipation of that possibility makes me tingle all over.

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