Being old has its perks

 There are times when I'm glad I'm as old as I am and raised my children in the era before mobile phones, let alone smart phones and social media. Internet technology and communications has changed our lives in extraordinary, unimaginable ways since I made my first phonecall at the age of seven on my parents' one black rotary phone, that sat in the kitchen attached to a long, easily tangled cord. And since I used a slide rule to make calculations and my mother's old typewriter with its two-coloured ribbon to type the most important university papers.

I thought I'd been adapting and keeping up with the times quite well for a pre-IT dinosaur; I managed to analyze my PhD research data using an interactive statistical program (albeit on the university's computer, not my own PC), I have grown to love writing on the computer, although I still write first drafts long-hand, and I tolerate spellcheck, but not grammar check (which doesn't understand fiction writing). In 2009, when social media became a force, I joined Facebook and later Twitter (since deleted) and Instagram, recognizing their value for keeping up with friends and connecting with readers and book lovers. I created a website which I can update myself, I joined this blog. When the pandemic hit, I learned about the new frontiers of video chats, which vastly opened up our world to places and people far away. During this time, I launched two books using Zoom and still use it for the occasional remote book event. I've even learned to give Powerpoint slideshows over Zoom, which is much easier than trying to show them to a live audience.

But although the Internet and social media have enriched my life, they are not my primary contact with the world. I still love being out in nature, getting together with friends, and connecting with readers and other writers in person. I shop online for some things but still prefer to see and touch potential purchases in person. I still like to roam through stores. 

For some, though, especially the younger generation (anyone under 35, LOL), there has never been a world with screens and digital connections. My own children did not have cellphones, nor did any of their friends. There was no such thing as social media. In their vulnerable teen years, there were rudimentary chat forums as well as email and video games that allowed them to interact online, but because this was limited to a desktop computer (a single computer for all of us, only later did they get their own), the digital world did not follow them around and invade every moment of their lives. No online bullying or unwanted photo sharing, no instant group communications of the latest parties or transgressions. Bullying and social exclusion have always been with us, especially in the pre-teen to early teen years, but social media has amplified it to horrifying heights. Even adults can be destroyed by a negative post gone viral. 

This destructive force is bad enough but our over-reliance on the digital world has even worse consequences. The brain is growing and changing constantly over the first twenty years of life and needs the right stimulation at critical times for optimal development. I remember worrying , as a psychologist, about the effects on young brains of researching material using website-hopping and cut-and-paste answers. I feared young people would not develop the concentration and in-depth analytical thinking needed to see the big picture and synthesize ideas abstractly. And in the younger, developing brain, the loss of creative, unstructured play and hand-on exploration, of sustained attention, and managing time, frustration, and challenge can never be recovered.

I could go on and on, but that's not the purpose of this blog. I started off by saying I was glad I'm as old as I am. My children avoided the pitfalls of modern technology, although I worry about my grandchildren, aged 4 and 5. I have mostly learned to use technology as a tool and an assistive device, but also know how to do many things the old-fashioned way. I am glad that that I've managed to write twenty books without using ChatGPT and will not be one of the millions of hopeful writers trying to be noticed over the flood of fake writing. I think Thomas's point that AI produced a mediocre novel at best and mediocre marks on law exams is heartening, suggesting the power of a truly brilliant mind will still shine through, but it may be only a matter of time before the AI programmers figure that out too. By that time, with any luck I will be beyond the need of lawyers, or intelligence of any sort. 

The power and perils of technology

 This is going to be a short post about the brilliance and frustration of technology. AKA the domino effect. Recently, my family got me a beautiful new Apple Watch in a sophisticated blue colour. As instructed, I connected it to my iPhone and started to explore it and discovered it was lacking some features I wanted. So I hunted around in Apple Support and found I had to upgrade the watch's OS, which I did, and then it was perfect. But it decided to also talk to my laptop, which I hadn't expected. It could turn it on, for example, and it made my phone go dark and put it in bedtime mode after I told the watch when I planned to be in bed.

All this was fine until this week, when Facebook started to go nuts, jumping around whenever I tried to scroll through my feed. Rebooting Safari and even turning off the whole computer didn't help. I upgraded the laptop's OS to the latest. Still no dice. So it was back to the internet, where I found lots of people had complained about FB skipping and there were numerous websites and youtube videos claiming to have fixes. I found the most common ones and did one of those; I cleared the browser's history. I was about to clear all my "caches" as recommended, but was leery of losing a whole lot of data and function.

Then I noticed many posts of FB complaining about the same thing. So I held off on the cache purge. This morning FB seemed to be behaving better, but my calendar reminded me it was my time to post on Type M. I clicked on the link on my banner, then on the little orange icon at the top, which always takes me to the admin page. This time... nothing. It just took me to the blogger main page. Blogger had never heard of me, I didn't have a blog, did I want to create a blog?

I fiddled around with Google accounts and passwords, queried my blog mates and finally got back on the internet, this time finding the Blogger "Help Centre". Here there was a useful link about "Why can't I sign in to my blog?" Essentially I had to be invited back in by the administrator, and once she did that - Thank you, Charlotte!- here I am. Out of Blogger exile. Apparently in clearing my history, I had also erased the crucial connection that allowed me admin access to the blog. 

All of this because Facebook freaked out and I ventured down the treacherous path of trying a DIY fix. Fixing one thing (in fact, it didn't fix it) caused a cascade of other things to go wrong, and I have lost the better part of two days, not to mention considerable hair, trying to figure out how to fix them, instead of writing the erudite blog on storylines which John's post inspired and I had planned. 

So instead you're getting this blog on the daily small frustrations that eat away at our time and creativity. I also wonder what other unpleasant screw-ups are waiting for me that I have yet to discover. Did I inadvertently erase some other crucial piece of information, or is it all the fault of my new Apple Watch, which looks so innocent and pretty displaying the time on my wrist. 

No wonder i like to write my first draft with a pen on yellow pads of paper. 

Tech Blues

 Yesterday I had another frustrating encounter with technology. The video trial period had run out on my Ring Doorbell. I received notice that I should enroll in a Protect Plan. There was an inexpensive one available. I quite like Ring because I can hear the doorbell in my basement. 

When I went on-line I was informed that I didn't have an account. I certainly did. My iPhone said so. The device worked perfectly. So I got in touch with a very savvy tech person. She patiently walked me through a number of steps. 

Nothing worked. According to the computer I simply didn't have an account. 

That was so not true. I protested vigorously to the techy. We went back and forth for a while. I kept getting notices that I was taking too much time between responses and the chat would soon close if I didn't reply at a faster pace. My problem was the length of time it took to alternate between the chat, the website, and the info on my phone. 

Finally she suggested that I had set up the account using a different email. She cut me off. 

I never use a different email. Like never. But I had. Then I remembered why. 

The Geek Squad person who came to install the first doorbell discovered my wiring wasn't sufficient and I needed a battery-charged device. He had set up an account using my usual email. So I was forced to use alternate identification when I switched to another device. 

The whole tech exchange took a lot of time. I mean a lot. 

Barbara's post on working through the dynamics of setting up virtual launches contained wonderful information. I really appreciated it. In fact, I would love to get more information about blog tours. 

We have to bite the bullet. Tech skills are part of the game now. I am fairly tech savvy, but learning process upon process takes a great deal of time. 

I'm cleaning out some of stuff during this forced Covid exile. There is a cache of fan letters over the years. Real actual letters. I was--and still am--very grateful for them. They remind me that my main job is producing books. Not conquering technology. 

Looking Backward and Forward

 By next Friday at midnight -- whatever happens between now and then, if the planet is still turning -- 2020 will be in our rear view mirror. We have called this year by many names -- some of them curses that our mothers would not approve of -- even if she is uttering the same curses when no one is listening. 

To say it has been a bad year is an understatement. But it also has been educational. We've learned things we didn't want to know -- like at what point we become numb to the daily death count. Or, think we have, until we lose someone we know and/or love. Or, until the media reminds us with yet another story that makes us understand once more the toll that COVID-19 has taken on individuals. Today, there was a story about a young woman who gave birth to her child and then died. The article was accompanied by a photo of the day when she and her husband celebrated her pregnancy. They are glowing with happiness. And now she is gone, and he has had to break the news to the other children. 

We can imagine one death, one family devastated. That haunts us. We have learned that this year. Learned it over and over again even when we tried not to see or listen. 

But we've also learned that we need to find time to stay connected with the people we care about.  Once upon a time, before email, my best friend from grad school and I used to write each other real letters. With email, oddly enough, the letters became less frequent. Until the past few months, when one email letter has led to another and we are having an on-going conversation about our lives. 

Some of us, those of us with "companion animals," were reminded of how much we value their companionship. I dropped my cat, Harry, off at the vet's last Wednesday evening for a procedure on Thursday morning. The vet and I were anticipating that I would be able to pick him up on Friday morning. Instead, the blizzard blew through depositing 22.5 + inches in our area. I spent the next six nights realizing that even when Harry is napping in a corner somewhere, the house has a different vibration when he is in it. I was as relieved as he was when I could finally pick him up on Tuesday afternoon.

Something else I learned this year -- vanity is a lot of trouble and sometimes unnecessary. For decades, since I was in my 20s, I first plucked out gray strands and then dyed my hair. I could never find a color that felt exactly right, although I did settle on a cool shade that worked with my skin tone. I thought occasionally of saying to heck with it and letting my hair go gray. But I didn't want people to think I had "stopped trying" or that my hair had turned white after a scare (old superstition). I didn't want to look in the mirror and see that I looked ancient. But this fall, while working from home and unable to get to a hair salon, I chopped my hair into a shape that worked on Zoom. Then, although I'd ordered hair color delivered with my groceries, I decided to see how gray my hair actually was. That was when I realized -- as more and more gray appeared -- that I liked the silver. It was great with my favorite shades of gray and blue. The color worked with my skin tone. Still, I was shocked when several people on Zoom said they liked my hair. Who knew?  The only problem now is that I need to update my author photos.

 I've also learned how to order a delicious meal online. I had used Grub Hub before. Now, I know how to "read" an online menu and find what I want. Last night I had a seafood feast -- fried oysters, crab hush puppies, mussel boil, and coleslaw. All this from a restaurant I had just discovered. And I'm doing my part to support local businesses with an order every couple of weeks -- my reward for learning how to do more with veggies and left-overs.  

Although I would rather have made this discovery under happier circumstances, I have finally become a fan of technology. I like what one can do on Zoom. I also like what one can do with a combination of new technology and old. I found an "animal communicator" online. We talked on the telephone, and then she did a session with Harry using a photo that I had sent her. In case you're interested, Harry has never lived with a dog (I wasn't sure), but he knows what they are. He was curious about the puppy (see cute photo) that is likely to join us in the new year. But he is withholding judgment until he encounters him and sees how he behaves. The session was inspired by my research for a book, but it was also fascinating.

I could go on with the list of things I've learned this year -- some good, some bad. You must have your list as well. I've going to see how many of those things -- for example, the need to get outside and get fresh air or at least open windows even in a pandemic -- translate into New Year's resolutions. 

Happy Holidays and Take Care,

Frankie

Our deal with the devil

I just received a new Samsung smartphone. It replaces the iPhone I've had for many years and was so out-of-date that I couldn't download the few apps I might've found useful. The new phone is an amazing piece of technology and so pretty. It's got way more capability than I'll ever use. In fact, my first chore was deleting many of the apps that came standard. Years back, when cameras were first installed on a cellphone, I thought, "That's dumb. Who would bother?" So much for that prognostication.

But my use of the Samsung is haloed with trepidation. Everything I do on the phone is tracked and recorded, then fed through computers to build my profile and from that, predict what I'm going to do next. We've all had the experience of searching for something on one platform, our phone for example, and then finding similar search results when we access Facebook on the computer. We know we're being constantly watched but act like we're cool with it. People who opt for smart speakers like Alexa astound me. You're okay letting a corporation put a microphone inside your house? Then again, every new car is a rolling fountain of your personal information. Where you went. When. What you listened to. What you accessed on your phone. With every passing day, privacy means less and less. We've become a society of exhibitionists exploited by professional voyeurs.

Last week I was watching Hitchcock's North by Northwest and I noticed a scene in a hotel where people retreated into phone booths to make calls. Contrast that when a couple of days ago, a young woman passed me by on the sidewalk while she was doing a video chat and discussing her recent trip to the gynecologist.

Our attitude toward technology, more specifically, social media and communication is increasingly bipolar. The Wall Street Journal ran an article about the detrimental effects of this constant exposure to social media (mostly by phone) for young women. The same issue then published a piece about using phone apps to improve romantic relationships. Which is it?

The surveillance Orwell predicted in 1984 is tame compared to what we've willingly accepted. Winston and Julia never carried a pocket device that tracked their every move or recorded every snippet of conversation. At the present, our individual ensnarement in the web seems benign. It's all about convenience. But the dark side looms ahead. You've no doubt heard of doxxing, which is the publication on social media of your private details such as residence, contact information, place of work, family and their addresses for the purpose of harassing you into silence or banishment. In the not too distant future, expect what I hereby coin "idoxxing," meaning the public disclosure of your internet search history. What naughty things have you been looking up? Shame. Shame. Shame.

What interests me more as a crime writer is how all this technology creates the illusion of security and safety. Idoxxing will be used for blackmail. Also, every advance in cyber security only exposes more gaps to be leveraged by the bad guys. Our homes and financial accounts have never been more vulnerable. Once criminals crack into any system, they're free to loot and pillage. Nest eggs will vanish into the electronic ether. You can buy a device that blasts a signal over a broad spectrum to disable cellphones and wifi connections within a perimeter for the purpose of robbery or worse. The victim can't call for help and all the security systems are shut down. Pretty slick gizmo. Watch for it in my next crime novel.

Keeping Up With the Times

I’ve started a new novel and am slogging along in the jungles of the first draft. When I’m trying to get a first draft to look like something and having a tough time of it (which is always), I often wonder why I put myself through it. But then if I didn’t have a first draft I wouldn’t have anything to revise. I much prefer doing revisions to writing the first draft of a novel. In my metaphorical little world, writing the first draft is a coarse, rough, sweaty process. You slap that gesso on the wall by the bucket load and slather on the background paint. It’s messy and hard and, for me, a daily act of will to accomplish. But rewriting takes skill. It requires a true eye, real delicacy and finesse to shape that big old expanse of plaster into a work of art.

With rewrites, you get to see the story change shape and, if you’re lucky and skilled enough, grow into something beautiful. Of course, there are those horrible moments when you realize that you’re going to have to lose a scene that you really liked, or that word of which you are so enamored because it no longer fits the picture. I think perhaps that’s when you know you’re a real writer, when you can cut good stuff for the greater good of the story.

I must comment about Barbara's post, below, about how a writer faces the end of her book. I totally relate to her fear of not being able to pull it off. It's really horrible to know exactly how you want it to come off and not be sure you have the chops to do it. I never quite achieve the brilliant, knock-your-socks-off triumph that I had envisioned, but I'm usually pleased enough in the end. I often don't know exactly how it's going to end, myself, until it does. Once I do finish a book, I love to go back over it and fiddle with it, changing a word here, a sentence there, like polishing a new-made piece of furniture. Pulling off a great ending requires not only skill, but insight and not a little luck!

And one last word about computers (see Rick’s cautionary entry, April 17, below). I’m about twenty years behind the times when it comes to technology. I wonder if the reason isn't because I have no kids to shame me into keeping up with the times. For those of us who attained majority before the advent of the computer age, it just ain’t fair. We aren’t stupid. But we grew up in a world that required a whole other set of skills.

I hate to sound like an old curmudgeon who goes on about how she used to live in a shoebox in the middle of the road and eat mud for supper when she was a child, but that’s not going to stop me. I write a historical series, but I don’t think the past was better than the present.  Far from it.  I’m not nostalgic for the past. I don’t rue the fact that the world is changing. That’s the way it is. But it does seem that I hardly recognize the planet I grew up on any more. I don’t value the things that most of society seems to value.

I expect this happens to everyone, and has since the beginning of time. I wonder sometimes about those souls who manage to live to be 100 or 110. How must they feel about the fact that everyone else who understood their world has entered the choir eternal? How must they feel when the very world they knew how to live in is gone, when they find themselves on what amounts to a different planet, and they are the only ones of their species left in existence?

Hmm, there’s a plot in there somewhere. And now I beg to be excused so that I can go back up all my work.

Writing in the Present and the Past

Rick's post on Tuesday about the digital age and new technology struck a chord with me. I agree that as writers of crime fiction, we end up looking fairly stupid -- or making our characters look that way -- if we don't know about and make use of current technology in our books. I have tried a twist in my two Hannah McCabe books. They are set in the near-future, but in an Albany, New York that exists in an alternate universe. The characters communicate with an all-purpose device called an ORB. I've incorporated some other real-life technology already available but not yet widely used.

On the other hand, my Lizzie Stuart series is set in the recent past. The challenge there is to remind readers that Lizzie is in 2004 right now. Only problem, my memory of early 2000 is becoming a bit blurry. I haven't written a book in the series in several years. When I return to it with the next book, I'm going to have to do some research -- read some newspapers, look at some ads, get back into the technology of 12 years ago.

I thought it would be easier to write a historical thriller set in 1939. Even with the future looming and on display at the World's Fair, no one was able to pick up a smartphone and find information.  But I do need to know what  technology was available. That's a fairly easy question to answer regarding the FBI and large city police departments. But I must dig deeper to know how readily a small town police chief in Georgia would have been able to obtain information about a suspect or verify someone's identity.

And there are other questions I need to answer about 1939. Recently, I came across a collection of letters online. Letters to a young woman who was in her first year of college. Most are from her mother, with an occasional letter from her father, a minister. The letters are fascinating because the parents are keeping their daughter informed about what is happening at home. What has struck me is how often someone is ill that winter. The mother has a toe that has become infected and she is at home with her foot up in the early letters, waiting for the toe to drain and the hole to close over. She later comes down with a horrible cold, as do several other people she mentions. One of those people is a radio personality. A family in the town suffers a double tragedy when a young man attending the funeral of his sister, fails to dress properly for the wet, chilly weather, catches pneumonia, and dies soon after. All of this illness has reminded me that I need to know more about the state of medicine in the 1930s. I had this on my radar as a concern for the people struggling to survive the Great Depression, but even in this middle-class, well-educated family and among their neighbors, the danger of an early demise seems to loom over their heads. So research on the state of medicine in the 1930s is in order.

But right now, I am waiting to receive my new computer. I have turned over my old equipment to my computer guy and he is transferring everything over. I'm going to keep my outdated desk top to use for writing when I don't want to be distracted. The new laptop will have all of the most recent bells and whistles, including touch screen. It should be interesting to see how long it takes me to adapt

Betwixt and Between

Barbara here, with apologies that this blog is a little late. Blame it on technology, or rather on my rather conflicted relationship with technology.

I grew up in the dark ages, before computers and iCloud and Internet, and I am of that generation that has to be hauled, squirming and bewildered, into each new technological era, usually coached by the ten-year-old in handy reach. Our family didn't get a TV until I was twelve, and for most of my youth, we fiddled with rabbit ears, colour balance, and vertical control to keep Ed Sullivan from being green and spinning dizzyingly on the screen. We had one phone in the house, which was firmly anchored by a cord to the wall in the hall. Imagine my sister's and my teenage delight when the 25-foot cord was invented, allowing us to drag the phone into the bathroom to talk to our friends.

I did quick mathematical calculations on a slide rule, and the statistical analysis for my M.A. thesis on a Monroe calculator, which looked rather like a glorified cash register. I typed my papers on a manual typewriter, using white-out to correct mistakes. Needless to say, one tried not to make too many mistakes.

I had a tattered little address book with every contact I'd ever made in forty years. Old phone numbers were scratched out and new ones squeezed beneath, sometimes a long succession of them. Knowing which one was the latest phone number was a game akin to reading hieroglyphics. I looked up research books from card catalogues in the library and then tried to find the books in the obscure back shelves of the library.

Today I have a 'contacts' list on my computer, a landline which is used primarily to screen out telemarketers and political robocalls, and a computer that allows me to write twenty-five pristine drafts of my latest novel without a single misstep. I don't even have to know how to spell, although that's an advantage. I can find out just about anything I need to know by clicking through links on the Internet. It's amazing, and I often wonder how on earth we did anything before the computer age.

Some things elude me, of course. I have not figured out what possible use Twitter is, and have not even attempted Instagram and Google Circles. I update my website with trepidation, and I resist downloading each new suggested software until I've been harassed to do so for months. I know from bitter experience that it will screw up some other perfectly functioning program, and I will have to call in the ten-year-old. And I admit, the notion of self-driving cars and even self-parking cars gives me the willies. Computers may control things better, until they don't. And we all know, sometimes they don't. I like to be in control, knowing the car will respond to my foot on the brake and the twist of the steering wheel. I use cruise control mainly to avoid getting speeding tickets.

What does this have to do with forgetting my blog? Throughout my years as a travelling consultant, I carried a day planner in my purse, held together with an elastic so the thousands of pink phone messages wouldn't fall out. It was easy and efficient. I wrote everything in it– all my appointments, phone numbers, to do lists, and so on. I could flip through it at a glance to check this week's appointments or next month's. None of this clicking through interminable links, squinting at tiny font on my phone, and waiting for the next page to load. I still use a day planner today, and about half my appointments go in it. But I have also discovered the Apple calendar on my devices, and have even managed to sync my phone to my laptop so it doesn't matter which device I'm on. This calendar has these handy little alert functions, reminding me to change my furnace filter and give my dogs their heartworm medication. So now, some things go on my paper planner, and some on my electronic one.

And regrettably, some things go on neither. Thus I forgot today was my Wednesday blog day until this morning. Next time, with any luck, a handy little alert will notify me the day before, just as soon as I have time to click through all the links and set it up.