R.B. O'Brien's Blog, page 7

My Favorite Cafe

I’m sitting in one of my favorite cafes where I often go to grade papers or write. The food is healthy and varied, and I dig the Jazz playing right now, 1920s Great Gatsby stuff, that will soon shift into Frank, the click of the CD changer almost audible. It’s hard not to snap my fingers, but I tap my feet conspiratorily instead.

The local art on the wall above my head is so expensive and you’d almost want to blow your money on it if it weren’t so damn ugly! But the sun is so warm through the huge ceiling to floor ceilings that everything seems beautiful.

I love this place. I’ve been coming here for years. The owner himself works behind the counter. You’ve got to be in the mood, because if you want to be left alone, it’s not happening until the hugs are doled out and the ‘how-have-you beens’ are answered to satisfaction and you finally find a perfect spot to yourself and wonder why you’ve gone so long between visits. I think I’ll continue to stay here a while, even if the couple next to me hasn't learned to find their ‘inside voices.’

I chose to write here today, because I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to. Word is: It’s closing—can’t compete. I didn’t have the heart to ask. I hear a couple people whispering, but I’m not sure if it’s grumblings or rumors. I hear: “I think they’re getting their liquor license,” perhaps as a wishful hope that something will keep it open. I’m not quite sure how I will get through fall, it’s been my place for so long to come after school.

But as I look around to a pretty packed room, sipping a smoothie and savoring each bite of my hummus platter, I see the laptops and phones filled with noses while cups are empty. I want to say—buy another coffee! Grab a snack! And it dons on me why such a bustling place, alive with all walks of life and topics, mostly politics (it’s hard not to eavesdrop), may not last. People come in to de-socialize, sink into virtual reality, and shut off to turn on. And a cup of Joe under $5 isn’t going to sustain a place like this. Neither is this pumpkin latte I was just given "on the house" with a wave of the hand that tells me the discussion is over. . “You’re too nice,” I say. And it hurts to know how true that truly is. Maybe nice guys do finish last. But I’d choose the nice guy every damn time.

OPEN RELATIONSHIPS: Do They Eliminate Cheating?

Today I ask: Would you rather be with your best friend and have adequate sex for a lifetime or be with a passionate lover filled with angst and torment but incredible sex? You can’t have both! Of course we’d all say we want both, that we’d choose our best friend and exquisite lover, but how many of us actually can find that? How many of you have? Is that an allusion fed to us? Is it really possible to have the lover of our dreams AND our best friend? What if we find it but only after we’ve already made a commitment to someone else? How many of us settle, picking the easier life, the life that keeps us from possibly being alone?

Why? Why do we do this? Are we that afraid we can’t “have it all” and so follow like sheep and do what society expects of us? Is it really the best we think we can get? It makes wonder if that is why so many couples cheat on one another.  Sit here and say how wrong it is all you want, but it is as common as breathing. And we all know it. Just look around.
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And so this leads me to my real question of the day and my #ThursdayThoughts. Are open relationships something we should all be striving for? Is that possible? I have mixed feelings on this issue and I realize as I ponder this how very selfish it is. I think about myself. And I think about how truly spectacular it could be to have the liberty to have the best of both worlds, openly. No lying. No cheating. No deceit. No hurt feelings. Just an open understanding that monogamy is a bit far-fetched perhaps. That we find our needs fulfilled by different people at different times, much like friendships. Some days I need a break from say, my childhood best friend, and need to be with my best friend from work, who understands me now, not the Rosemary of middle school or high school. And other times, I want to revisit an ex-boyfriend, now friend, because he may understand things about me without me having to spell everything out, because he was a part of making me who I am.

I wonder if this is a topic that can be discussed AFTER the commitment or if it would destroy it if the other person isn’t on board. What is wrong with me? Aren’t I enough? What is missing? And so on…I think someone who has a need for BDSM elements who chooses a vanilla partner might struggle with this…and chooses, chooses to decide on that first question I posed—best friend or best lover. But would an open relationship keep the trust in loyalty intact? Is it healthier? Or would it destroy it? When I think of the idea for myself, I like it. But when I think about those I love or have loved doing it, it makes me feel insecure, inadequate, even jealous. And so, is it fair that I should lust after something that I wouldn’t want done on the other side? Double standard much? Yup. It sure is. And I think I’d be very happy that way. :) 

Experience Informs Our Writing But It Doesn't Define Us...

I often wonder about my writing. Where it came from. Why. I particularly wonder about why I feel compelled to write erotica and erotic romance with BDSM. Why it has dark themes. Sometimes dub-con. Why alpha males? Why damaged males? Why happy endings? What is it that turns me on about such themes? Have you thought about this if you write? How about what you read? Have you ever been judged because of it? And if so, do you hide it? Behind kindles? Or behind pseudonyms? Do you ask yourself why you’re drawn to what you’re drawn to when it comes to the erotic? Or romance? Is there a formative experience you can pinpoint it to? More importantly, have you been able to answer it?

I think I can understand it for myself…somewhat. My formative years. The boyfriends I had and the age. The poet with tough family life whose middle name was angst, who was sent away, later joined the military, and went AWOL. Perhaps, because I wanted to help him, “save” him from his past disappointments and couldn’t. Perhaps I like to see those happy endings in my romance books that may reflect what I wish I could have done. Keep the juicy angst but be able to fix it all in the end. I don’t know. I’m still thinking about that. I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t much care about the whys anymore. It just “is.”

A few have criticized my choices in my “fiction" as a result. Recently, a “friend” who claims not be judgmental in any form (let me clear my throat), stormed “off the set” because of some of the contents on my books, unfriending, saying nasty things about MY  'character' because of the “characters” in my “fictional” books. Did I say “fiction”? Good thing she’s not judgmental, huh? And I see it happen to a lot of authors. It's not just me. 

There’s so many varying forms and levels of sexuality from heterosexual to bisexual to pansexual to homosexual and everything in between. I’m heterosexual. And yes, this may sound silly, but sometimes, I almost feel like THAT is a bad thing to be writing about these days. I certainly felt that way with my previous publisher. I couldn’t care less which way you wave your flag. Love. Lust. Fuck. Kiss. Sleep with whomever you want. But how come traditional roles of love and relationships, conflict and resolution, falling in love and marriage is somehow bad, uninteresting, not important anymore? Says who? It’s what I, personally, enjoy reading in this genre. And it’s what I enjoy writing. I won’t apologize for it. Just as someone who wants to write about transgender relationships or gay sex or bisexual untraditional tropes. Go for it. 

What's more, and maybe this is the rub, this genre, this trope, this story, is STILL quite popular among many romance readers, readers in general, that even in our changing world of more and more acceptance of non-traditional roles, the majority still like the trope of boy meets girl, they fall in love, and live happily ever after but not until there is a helluva lot of angst and conflict first. So what? Live and let live. I wish the judging would stop. On both sides of this coin. What difference does it make if it’s well-written and makes a reader feel? Find your audience. And keep producing what both you and they are looking for. It’s really that simple.
Add a few more ingredients to this madness, and it might make a little more sense where her anger comes from. Take someone who is insecure, sexually confused (which can do a number on anyone’s self-esteem), a not-so-pleasant introduction to sex (not cool by anyone’s standards), and then consider the effects of dealing with all that mentally. Therein comes the trigger "effect." And then, the lashing out occurs. And bam. Some of us land right in the firing line, because partially, it gets her goat that people are not only reading it but really liking that which she detests. In this light, it becomes a little more understandable, but in a rational mind, we can see how flawed that is. 

I write more than alpha male erotic romance. If you don’t know that by now, I question why you’re even reading this. There are pieces of me in my characters. Some more than others. But I am not my characters and my characters are not me. I think the best thing we can do is write if we’re writers; read if we’re readers; and make no apologies for what we want to read and write. If people continue to read my work, I’ll keep writing them. When they stop, I’ll probably stop publishing too. But I’ll never stop writing. And I will not apologize to anyone who can’t differentiate between fiction and the author of said fiction. Experience Informs Our Writing But It Doesn't Define Us. 

Is Happiness An Illusion?

​Today I ponder happiness. Is true happiness attainable? If I were to ask you this very moment, “Are you happy?” What would be your answer?

Sometimes I wonder if happiness exists, wholly or truly. Many will say that in order to feel happiness, we must feel the pain of its opposite. That THAT is one of life’s great paradoxes. The myriad colors of emotion. I hear that sort of reasoning often. But I can honestly say that I know feelings without their opposites, love without hate, for instance. And so, that theory doesn’t often hold up, even though it’s comforting and makes perfect sense to me. Is it just a way we keep ourselves from going rogue or crazy or off the deep end? That we must always come up with plausible explanations for things that often can’t be explained.

I can’t think of a time I’ve ever “hated.” I’m being quite sincere here. Maybe it is because our parents always told us NEVER to use that word: “Rosemary. You may dislike something but you never say you hate.” Sound familiar?
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I’m starting to think there is no lasting happiness, that maybe from a young age, we've been sold a bill of goods, and maybe that’s the thing. Maybe nothing lasts but we have glimpses of it. Does it mean I’m unhappy? Or is it just another word. Sad. Disappointed. Unfulfilled.  Bored. And are they only moments, like every moment is? No moment lasts, and therefore, no feeling lasts? Like this one, right now, already gone with each stroke of my keyboard. Poof. Like childhood, gone.  Maybe it’s just about change. And maybe change is a form a happiness. And maybe without change, we feel ‘unhappiness.’ Maybe it’s time I think about a change. Or perhaps we’re always chasing happiness. Maybe happiness is nothing but a hollow, chocolate bunny. There’s nothing inside happiness. It tastes sweet, but maybe it’s just…boring. Empty. Superficial. You know?
I think a better word or phrase might be peace or peace of mind. Contentedness. But then does that mean we become complacent? Perhaps that’s just it. We want the chocolate. It tastes good, but after we have a taste or worse, become satiated, we ‘feel’ the most unhappy? Are feelings even real?
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And so, I circle back. Maybe happiness is just an illusion. Maybe happiness doesn’t exist. Maybe we don’t want it to, because maybe, just maybe, happiness means we’re dead.

Cheating: Is It Always 'Right' to Come Clean?

"I was deceiving Scott, I was deceiving Michael, and I was deceiving myself if I didn’t think they were both going to find out the truth about each other eventually." 
~Annabelle (Edge of Torment)
​Today I have many questions and they all relate in some way (sure they do) to the same topic: Cheating in fiction. First, how do you feel about your main heroine cheating? Not on the hero (or in this case, anti-hero), but cheating on a former boyfriend, the minor character, sort of by chance, a man she really is not fulfilled or happy with? Further, and this is more of the question, must she fess up to it? Tell him? If someone cheated on you in real life, would you want to know if you were already broken up? What would it do for you to know except hurt you? Is “the truth” the most important thing? Or are the feelings of another? I hope you’ll indulge me to read the whole, blasted post.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose”

You’d think summer would be my favorite season, having months off to write and swim and sleep late and eat the best of garden veggies, and it is, but there is something about fall that brings waves of nostalgia like I can’t describe. Fall makes me feel, as does each season, but fall is in a class all its own.

It might be that it always makes me feel like I’m still young. I’m still the teenager Rosemary. School starting. Back-to-school shopping and tights and sweaters and UGGs. Halloween afoot. The colors and smells of pies and apple picking and pumpkins and cool, brisk air that lets you know you’re alive. Maybe it brings me back to days of first loves and leaf fights and innocence and innocence lost. Bonfires and football games and cheerleading and back-to-school dances. Maybe it’s because I teach and those things haven’t changed all that much.

I really don’t know why, because it’s this strange feeling I get when fall is on the horizon. It’s such a strange emotion, I can’t even describe it. It’s an anxious excitement. It’s not all good, and yet, I clutch at its strength, its power. It’s like every sense is reawakened somehow and every emotion on the spectrum. Maybe that’s why. Maybe summer is too ‘easy.’ Maybe there isn’t as much meaning in easy. Maybe it reminds that I don’t like standing still. Maybe it reminds me of how easily I get bored.
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But often, and probably as long as I live, it will remind of my mother and the difficult relationship we had. (CLICK HERE to see a former BLOG about my mother.) It’s not only because of the anniversary of her death, but it’s remembering our “fall” fights.  We fought the strongest during those early fall months. We couldn’t agree on clothes or hair or make-up. Dance classes would start up again, and the insecurities blossomed bigger, the pressure ever heavy, even as I needed to dance just as I needed to breathe. We loved each other under the most complicated of terms right up until her death. But it was love. 
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Maybe falls reminds me that some days, I wish I could do a redo. And maybe every fall reminds me that I can’t. I CAN, however, do right now…and I better start figuring out what RIGHT NOW looks like. Maybe I need to let go of what others think I should be, and instead, let all my worries and inhibitions fall, a leaf from a tree that realizes when it's time to let go. Maybe  “to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose” is true. And maybe,  I need to start living as I was meant. Me. My season. The purpose I divine. 

SNAPCHAT DYSMORPHIA

Today I ponder plastic surgery and social media filters. What say you on these topics?

In news this week, there have been many reports about something the media is calling: Snapchat Dysmorphia. (Don’t you just love when they come up with these catchphrases everyone latches onto?)  CBS reported: “Plastic surgeons are sounding the alarm on a disturbing trend that's emerged with the growing popularity of social media: patients seeking cosmetic surgery to resemble how they see themselves in Snapchat filters,” which has “people requesting fuller lips, bigger eyes, or a thinner nose in order to look like the filtered or photo-edited versions of themselves.”

I have longed worried about this. Not the plastic surgery idea. I never in my wildest imagination thought that it would lead to plastic surgery increases to this extent, but I have worried about the foolish filters and annoying filter of Snapchat. (Sorry to those who love them. That is your call.) I remember when Snapchat first got popular, and I said to my hairdresser: “I don’t get it? What is the difference between that and other forms of social media formats?” And she responded: “You can make yourself look so much prettier and cuter. Look I’ll show you. Everyone looks good in these filters!” They do? Bunny noses? Or big ol’ Puss ‘n’ Boots eyes? Bubble heads? I didn’t get it. Still don’t. And refuse to get it. I’ve blogged about body image denial before and its devastating effects (SEE ARTICLE HERE ) as well as INTERPERSONAL ISSUES FROM SOCIAL MEDIA, but this goes even further. Altering one’s body and face to LOOK like the fake pictures is startling. Doctors themselves who make a living off plastic surgery are saying that these trends “lead to the development of body dysmorphic disorder, or BDD, a mental health condition in which a person is preoccupied with a nonexistent or minor flaw in their physical appearance.”

We all dislike things about our bodies or faces. But isn’t that what makes us unique? Too-large breasts that hurt our backs or too-small breasts that make clothes shopping so disheartening we may fall into depression may be reason for plastic surgery. A deformity of some sort or a health risk may be other reasons. And maybe these things or others aid in people's self-esteem and so does a world of good for them. I don't know.

But these Snapchat filter requests are for little things. Minute. Things only the "filter user" or "snapchatter" sees in him/herself. And the plastic surgery is to address these little flaws (real or perceived) with big consequences. It’s alarming to say the least. Why are we going backwards when it comes to appearances and looks? I thought we were moving in a more substantive direction, but this is proving the contrary. We're becoming more and more superficial, and I have no idea why. Is it technology? Is it that for the first time, we have ways to combat our physical insecurities? But. It's. Not. Real! Does any of that matter to anyone anymore? Are the lines of real and fantasy becoming so blurred that there is no difference?

And this plastic surgery is no longer a thing for celebrities. The increase in plastic surgery is directly related to selfies and social media. “The number of people seeking plastic surgery because they want to improve how they look in selfies has been increasing. A 2017 survey from the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery sound that 55 percent of surgeons report seeing patients who mention selfies as a reason for requesting surgery.”

Further, something I echoed in my earlier blog above, a Boston University study stated that the “impact of digitally-perfected selfies may be especially harmful to young people… Filtered selfies especially can have harmful effects on adolescents or those with BDD because these groups may more severely internalize this beauty standard.”

So where does that leave us? And where do everyday people get the money for plastic surgery? They probably can’t, and therefore, wallow in self-hatred behind filters and social media, becoming more and more trapped in a virtual reality. Will the future bring us only virtual interactions where we can use Snapchat to alter our noses and eyes? Will we ever meet people in person again, too afraid they won’t like our REAL noses and eyes? Or will the future basically turn people into perfect clones of each other, robots?
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I do fear for the future and choose NOT to use Snapchat. I don’t show my face on social media because I can’t and because of what I write in a world of what I call: Erotica Judgmentals.

Is Giving Up Actually Healthy for Us?

We all have personal and professional goals, aka, dreams, we’re trying to achieve in this go-around. What are yours? And at what point is a dream just wishful thinking? In short, when is it time to give up? We see all kinds of positive thinking and memes on social media about not giving up, about following our dreams, about staying the course, and on and on…but are some dreams absurd? Does the boy who wants to be a professional soccer player, for instance, who works tirelessly and hard to achieve that goal foolish when, say, he just doesn’t have the strength for it? Or the talent? Or that young girl who wants to become a veterinarian but who can’t pass a science class or understand the concepts as hard as she tries? Could the same be said for writers? Or any other goals and dreams? In short, are some dreams simply unreasonable and causing us more angst and depression? In an article in Psychology Today last year, the old adages of "Follow Your Dreams" and "Never Give Up" and "At First You Don't Succeed, Try, Try Again!" were debunked and a new study by Klaus Rothermund and Katharina Koppe actually said that such maxims as "Anything Is Possible" are harmful and even exacerbate or cause depression in people. 

"As we all know from our childhood experiences, the maxim “If at first, you don’t succeed, try, try again!” is drummed into our heads from a very young age. These type of pep talks may backfire if the goal is unachievable regardless of how much effort someone pours into his or her futile struggle to succeed.... Rothermund and Koppe found that people often develop clinical depression as a result of making a Herculean effort to achieve an unattainable goal only to realize that their efforts were pointless. No matter how hard the person tries, his or her goals will always be out of reach. This experience can lead to colossal disappointment along with hopelessness, a loss of feeling in control, and helplessness."

Further, the research went on to say that "giving up," once such a negative phrase, can actually save someone from depression and instead can create "a sense of liberty and freedom" that "learning to let go of an unrealistic goal can...help to avoid the demoralization of hitting endless roadblocks and dead ends," and embraces a new adage: ​"The one, who gives up, wins."  It's hard to give up on a dream. We've been taught that it somehow makes us a failure. We're used to looking to blame other people for the obstacles to our success, calling them "naysayers" and spending an awful lot of time proving those said naysayers wrong, telling ourselves things like:
~The only “yes” you need to follow your dreams is yours.
~You’ll regret it later in life, and if you’re delaying it, you’ll question yourself why didn’t you do it sooner.
~Not following your dreams makes you feel unaccomplished.  Eventually, this will stop you from dreaming altogether.
​(GLOBOTREKS.com) And certainly, in some cases, that is very true, especially for we writers. Someone puts us down. Criticizes us. Tells us our stuff is shit. What's worse is when someone we respect or admire or who we think supports us tells us this. That's a hard blow. And any person who is self reflective takes these things to heart. But we hearken to the words of the best writers who were also told the same things, who leave us with advice, and it soothes our inner demons...for a time.

I'm not sure where I fall on this spectrum. I would ask you to ask yourself the same questions I've been asking myself before giving up on a dream: How do I feel when I hit an obstacle or failure, perceived or otherwise? Do I feel myself spiraling into a depression when things don't go as planned? Am I following the dream I get satisfaction from? Or is there no longer satisfaction in following that dream? Am I following someone else's dream for me? Am I happy following my dream? Have I set my expectations too high? Do I feel good until someone knocks me down a peg? Is my dream keeping me awake at night? Making me anxious? Insecure? Is my self esteem dwindling? Am I depressed because of it?

The answers to those questions will give us the answer to whether or not our dream is worth following. We must remember: We are NOT one dream. We should have many dreams, many goals, and many pursuits. As a girl who once thought being a professinal dancer was the only dream worth pursuing, I know this. Mediocre at much; master of none was something I often heard. It's bullshit. Being well-rounded is NOT a flaw. This much I do know and HAVE learned.

So set up a life with MANY goals and dreams, and take them one day at a time. Do what makes your soul feel alive, pumping with energy and spirit, not one drowned and suffocated. And for me, today, my goal will be to sit on a beach, under the sun, think about all the things I have to be grateful for and let life live through me. And that will be enough, for now....

Ernest Hemingway: A Sensitive and Vulnerable Mind Full of Contradictions...

Today, I bring you Ernest Hemingway. What a fascinating man! But so tragic. :( 

What was your first experience with Hemingway? What is your opinion of his work? Critics still can’t agree!

Hemingway is easily known as one of the greatest American authors. We have come to know him as the writer who disdained “the grandiose wordiness of Victorian prose for a clean, stripped-back simplicity, conveying emotion by what was not said as much as by what was.” In fact, I don’t think there is any living person who doesn’t know Hemingway and his “Iceburg Theory.” One article even compared his legacy to the literary equivalent to a Nike swoosh or the golden arches, asking, “Who doesn’t have a mental picture of the gray beard and safari shirt? Who couldn’t vamp a Hemingway-like sentence in a pinch?” And what a shame that perhaps because “we’ve come to fetishize this voice that we accept and even admire gnomic truisms like ‘a writer should write what he has to say’—an observation from Hemingway’s Nobel banquet speech,” we may miss what he was really good at: his “earlier, more uncertain writing—the prose that openly struggles to track and parse a mess of a life—that gets into your blood.”

In short, Hemingway tried to prove that less is more (coming from his journalistic background) and taking his cue from Ezra Pound who taught him to “distrust adjectives,” that adjectives can do more harm than good in writing prose. Some critics, however, say Hemingway’s penchant for creating novels that usually follow a basic chronological order, are boring and typical for one touted as such a great American author. And when critics aren’t arguing about his genius, they argue about why he is a genius! Some argue that it is that which Hemingway leaves out, which, by proxy means, we, the reader, must put back in, that makes him a genius, while others say it’s NOT what he left out but what he left in, and that everyone has gotten it all wrong! Confused yet? 

Communication Through the Internet Has Made Me a Better Writer...

Is the internet and things like DMs and Messenger the new form of letter writing? Is it so bad? We had this discussion a bit in The Nu Romantics the other day about the handwritten manuscript, notes, or letters, that it is becoming a lost art, the beauty fading, and so, too, may be our words. Are these capabilities making interpersonal relationships and communication a thing of the past? Are we doomed to face a world like the one presented in the novel, "Ella Minnow Pea"? (If you haven't read that by the way, I highly recommend it.) For all its ills, there is something romantic about the communication of writing. Yes. I see its flaws. I see the idea that people may be losing their ability to talk face-to-face, that interpersonal skills may be lacking as a result of texting and the like. But, for me, it has freed me. It has freed me from a life of writing academically, of putting on my masks at work and even in my personal life. R.B. has freed a world of words and ideas and thoughts, free to say almost (almost because I still am me) anything I'm feeling, to embrace my dark and my light. To write. Yes. To write. 

I write all the time now because of technology. I speak into my phone and type it later. I pull over on the side of the road and write into my notes. I can be at work in the most boring of meetings, listening to someone who just wants to hear himself talk, see a prompt somewhere, and type into my notes app on my phone. I see a sunset. I write. I watch a ballet and I write. I go to the theatre and I write. I lie on the beach...and yes, I write.

​I cannot tell you how many times I had an idea or a thought and poof, it's gone, because I didn't have my notebook or pen, or if I did, it would be too obvious and maybe even rude. The phone, once a rude invasion, has become almost a part of us, to pull it out now is normal, expected...do I put it away sometimes? Of course I do. There are times and places it's unacceptable, and sometimes, even then, I scurry off the bathroom and hide and jot down a thought, a phrase, a moment. I dare say it's made me a better writer. Even these blogs I write: So many ideas flit through my mind and I lose them if I don't write them down...and so, my phone is my mind on many occasions...I write poems on it. I write micro shorts. I write these blogs.

But the best thing I love about this thing we call the internet is the ability to find love, to fall in love with someone's soul rather than their looks or other things we tend to judge people on. I get to communicate with people all over the world, and get to know them, as we learn to communicate more clearly through the written word. Like a time long ago where a lover across seas or at war can only communicate through a written letter, so, too, has the internet's channels of conversation done the same. The only difference? Sometimes it even makes us closer. It's immediate. It's right there, at our fingertips. I see something, I want to share with a friend, and I can write her. I can take a picture and send it. We can "talk" about it live...and it's organic and just as real as a real-time conversation in person. There is nothing stopping us from communication but a signal. Why must in-person be the best form of communication? Says who? I challenge you to tell me why. It's a shift, I realize, in thinking...but that's life. Evolution.  On Twitter last week, there was a prompt about what our phones are saying behind our backs. I laughed reading some of those. We can be naked. We can be in the tub. We can be in bed, under covers, in the dark when we're supposed to be sleeping, and have some of the most beautiful conversations. We can learn at any hour, from anyone we choose. We learn about other people and countries and ideas, things we could never do in person for myriad reasons, like money or time or space. it erases those obstacles. It opens us up to worlds this lifetime would never allow us to see. We may even fall in love with people we'll never meet. 
And somehow, that in itself, is one of the most romantic notions I can think of. Perhaps, even, I shall write a story and publish it about one such love affair, a couple madly in love, whose fate hangs in the balance of cyberspace. Yes. I dare say it again. The internet has made me a better writer. And this blog will now be shared with thousands of people, for better or worse. THAT could never happen otherwise. And to think, my phone and the internet made it possible...