A couple of months ago, I wrote about writing. Or about my writing, the books I’ve written with my old name on them.
I have a website where I sell my books and writing projects. It’s an old website, so it had my old name on it. When I changed my name, I figured I would leave the site as it was because the books and projects on it have my old name all over them. I just thought, well, that person wrote those books, so I’ll leave it.
While it’s true that that person wrote the books, so did I! Because I am still that person in many fundamental ways. And indeed, the same person shows up when I sit down (or stand up, as I am now) to write.
So I thought I’d go in, make a few quick changes, and bing bang zowie, it’d all be done and doner.
Why do I still think things like that? I’ve been building websites since 1995. I know there’s no such thing as bing bang zowie when it comes to websites.
So I set up a site on a new domain (because I want to keep the old domain, it has an old blog on it), made all the voodoo things happen, and moved the site files from the old domain to the new one.
Then the fun began.
Anyway, I’ll spare you all of the details. But it’s like if you see a tiny spot on the fender of your car and you think, ah, that’ll buff out, so you buff it, but there’s rust, so you have to sand it, but the rust is deep, and you sand right through the fender, so now you’re welding pieces onto the fender, and as you finish the weld, the passenger side door falls off.
Working on an old website is like that. Just like that.
But I think it’s all fixed up now, so all’s well that ends well (ends? Ha ha ha.).
I just read this back, and it’s so boring.
Maybe I’ll sprinkle in some pictures of women doing “men’s work” during World War II.
There, that’s better.
I don’t know if it’s enough, though.
I know. I’ll drop in a recent poem. It may be boring too, but it’s a chance I’ll have to take.
Cuba, facing forward
if I could just find a phone
I have the numbers
written on lined paper
with a shaky hand
and a failing pen
you’ll find me at the
selling gum and puppets
don’t make eye contact
buy the gum
in Cuba, I will dance
or deliver bread on a bicycle
waking up each morning
to the howl of wolves
and tropical bird’s complaints
look for me there
look for me in the blowing dust
and washing shirts
for the men in the party