You might have noticed that, after years of thematic stasis and no blog changes but the regular filler of words and images, we’ve rearranged the Fragments furniture in the past few weeks.
Fragments design has shifted to a new template. And as with most changes, there are some losses and some improvements.
The purpose for the anchor blog of Fragments will be to remain what it has always been, but to now be able to take longer posts, serialized topics and less warm and fuzzy topics to Life, the Universe et Cetera.
And now–you’re hearing about it for the first time today–to take images to a new repository at First Impressions Photography. (You can find a link to it in the header under image galleries.)
So please click over to that new subdomain. While there is not much up there yet, I do have four sets of photo-notecards on display.
My hope is to make them available for purchase in a way that is easy for customers and easy for me (to have cards printed and shipped on demand.)
So … a man and his toys: the Fragmented Empire…
Why blog? I am sure I’m not the only one who asks this question—one that fails to find an answer, even as we fire up the keyboard and fill more white space with words and pixels—about what, for what, towards what?
The buzzword in these days of ubiquitous personal technology is “self-documentation.” It’s all about me. That’s nothing new. But what is remarkable is the divers ways and the ease with which we can do it and the widespread compulsion to start self-documenting with our morning oatmeal and stream personal factoids until (and including) the brushing of our teeth at night.
Is that what your blog has become? [Read More at Blogging from ME to WE]
I feel a bit like any dog we’ve ever had. Coming to a potential napping spot, indoors or out, there’s typically a lot of circling–once, twice, sometimes more–before finally having the sense that this is exactly the right place.
So I’ve gotten up from one place that just didn’t seem quite right, and am not yet ready until I circle a few more times to say the blog layout and color scheme and pages are right and I can settle in.
Beware shifting templates and riptides.
Maybe it’s more like a plastic surgery make-over. I can’t settle on my metaphor here. So shoot me.
That said, please let me know if any of the new bits don’t work for you or if the page is slow to load or you have any other issues or comments for change.
Maybe it’s just that sometimes a little liposuction and collagen filler give us the sense that we’re starting over with a new body.
Nothing wrong here that a little digital botox can’t take care of. We’ll be in the recovery room for a while and back on the wide screen with a tummy tuck and bee-stung lips soon enough.
The Muse responds poorly to pressure. In fact, She cannot be conjured, cajoled or bribed.
But it is possible to create the kind of accommodations that increase the likelihood that cerebral light bulbs will flash and pop, and an idea will take shape.
Some people find they have the most receptive muse-moments while walking in a quiet place; some while catnapping or rocking on the porch or reading a totally unrelated book.
Me, I’m a hydrovehicular creative (if I can claim to be at all). Those few who read my post on this topic at Life, the Universe et Cetera the other day please peck around instead in the archives before you wander off.
(I confess I’m also a DendroRiparian writer-aesthete-creative. You’ll have to figure that one out for your own self.)
Otherwise, read My Best Thoughts Come in the Shower at LU&E and offer a few words about what it takes to bring your Muse your moments.
This will be no revelation to you, I know, that squirrels have a hard time making up their minds under stress.
So when I round a bend at 40 miles and hour and meet one straddling the white line of indecision in the middle of the road, I no longer slam on the brakes or throw the steering wheel wildly left or right. There’s really no point.
It is certain that this ambivalent rodent, like all his kin I’ve encounter over the driving decades, is going to be of two minds, plagued with self-doubt and second-guessing himself a dozen times in the split-second it would take me to avoid squirrel pizza.
The animal’s ultimate decision more often leads to misses than to hits, so his odds are better than 50-50. So I’ll be darned if I’m going to end up in a ditch because the of the rodent’s fickle panic. I do always check the rear-view mirror to confirm a miss—unless the tell-tale thump of the wheel tells me sadly otherwise.
And asphalt is not the only situation where these creatures manifest a clear lack of cool-headedness. Continue reading