I Am Not A Writer. I Am Not A Photographer.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERANor do I play either on TV.  I have never been paid for either.  I have never really tried to get paid for either.

Which begs the question:

At what point can one consider oneself a writer or a photographer?

In his recent post, which I reblogged here, Art of Pouring My Art Out states that he is not a photographer.  I think Art does a fine job with his camera, and I believe his 3800+ followers would agree.

Jason Cushman, the Opinionated Man of Harsh Reality, claims not to be a writer, yet he has 62,300+ followers who eagerly flock to his site to see what he has to say today.

When I was growing up, the only way you could become a “writer” was to submit a poem or story to a local newspaper or, if you were extremely brave, write a book for submission to a publisher.  In other words, you had to be published somewhere, and it wasn’t easy.

At the age of 10, one of my drawings was reproduced in the magazine, Highlights for Children, so I guess that made me a published artist, right?  But writing?  Not so much. I did learn, however, the many creative ways that publishing houses had for wording those rejection letters.  Some were actually quite kind, considering my young age.

Now we have the internet – and Amazon – and blogs.  Anyone, anywhere, and of any age, can “publish” (read, share) a story, a poem, a photo, a painting or a drawing.  While it seems that most professional (i.e., paid for their work) photographers take in stride the pictures shared by the less talented, the professional writers (e.g., authors) sometimes become annoyed when a blogger claims to be a writer.

Our deceased blogging friend, Paul Curran, wrote stories better than any I’ve seen published in magazines or books, and I know for a fact he never received a penny for it.

So, I repeat the question.

Do we become writers or photographers only when someone is willing to pay us for it? 

or …

Are we writers or photographers by virtue of the fact that someone, somewhere enjoys our work?  And comes back for more.

I’d like to think it’s the latter.  What do you think?

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I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com

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Image by Cordelia’s Mom

 

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Depth…

Art claims he’s not a photographer, but I think he does a fine job. However, this post is awesome because of what he writes about “perspective “- be sure to read the text . Nicely done, Art!

(Comments are closed here – leave any comments over on Art’s site.)

Pouring My Art Out

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Taking photographs is an art, and like all art, it has hidden depths worth exploring. Just framing a nice shot in the lens of your camera is fun, and you can end up with some great shots, much like doing a paint-by-numbers  project allows you to end up with a painting, or sticking a frozen pizza in the oven allows you to end up with dinner. But exploring the depths is how you discover new things and hidden treasures.

That picture up there is simple enough. White flowers on a tree in bloom, and something looming indistinct in the background.

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There is almost the same shot, but with the focus now set on the tower beyond the tree. I am not claiming to be any great photographer, and I am reasonably sure that there are settings on my camera that would have allowed me to take a third picture in…

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It Still Takes A Blogosphere

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Yes, Cordelia, bloggers can be friends even if they’ve never met!

(I know you know that, but it makes a nice first sentence, doesn’t it?)

Imagine my surprise upon returning home from work on Friday, when my husband handed me an envelope that had come in the mail that day.  He commented, “Malaysia?  Who do we know in Malaysia?”

I knew immediately who it was from! Pat, the writer of the blog, New Bloggy Cat, is in Malaysia!  How on earth did she find my home address?

(I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that … is it that easy to find me in today’s digital world?  Don’t answer that, Archon, I’m not sure I want to know how you did it, either!)

And, how on earth did the mail carrier figure out who Cordelia’s Mom is?   The envelope did not have my real name on it!

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It’s so special to receive something unexpected, isn’t it?    Pat tells me her kids helped draw the pictures in the card – don’t you just  love the one of Puppy Cody?  I know I do!

I can hardly wait to open and use the little sticky notes – something tells me that Bob T. Panda is going to getting a card from me just so I can use the panda post-its!

Pat – you are a very special lady, and you have made me feel extra special, too.  We live on opposite sides of the earth and never would have known of each other’s existence were it not for the blogosphere.

That is true of most of us here on WordPress.  We have hundreds or thousands of readers, and we read hundreds or thousands of other bloggers’ posts.  Many of us keep a low personal profile, and many of us use pseudonyms.  But despite that, every once in awhile, we connect with a few other bloggers.  We comment on each others’ posts, we email each other – sometimes, we even manage to meet each other in person!  (click here, and here, and here)

It’s an awesome world we live in, isn’t it?  And it seems to get smaller day by day.  I believe that’s a good thing – don’t you?

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I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com

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Images by Cordelia’s Mom

 

Posted in Relationships, That's Life | Tagged , , , , , , | 32 Comments

Stupidity

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“An Ode to Sherlock Holmes”

No, this isn’t going to be a political rant.  There are many things other than politics that create scenarios which cause you to think, “Well, that isn’t right!

Many of these events happen in the workplace, and I would so love to write about what’s going on at my workplace these days.  But I can’t.  It’s possible that some of my coworkers – maybe even The Boss – might come across this blog, and … I. Really. Need. This. Job. Right. Now.

But there has been no shortage of stupidity in my life.  Here are just a few examples:

♦  It was a quiet Sunday, and I was doing errands late in the afternoon.  Traffic was light just before dinner time.  Driving north on 6-lane Niagara Falls Boulevard, I was approaching a light and noticed an ambulance with lights flashing entering the intersection from the street on the left.  I pulled over and stopped.  The young man behind me didn’t.  With horn blaring,  middle finger extended, and shouting at the obviously senile old lady, the young driver passed me on the left, never once glancing in the direction of the oncoming ambulance.  In the passenger seat was a young woman, and the look on her face was priceless because she did see the ambulance.  Fortunately for all involved (and for whatever patient was waiting for emergency care), the ambulance driver was alert and managed to avoid what appeared to be an inevitable collision.

♦  Many years go, we were moving from one rental unit into another.  We were paying by the hour for the movers, and they were sympathetic to our somewhat depressed economic situation and not taking any extra time (heck, they knew we were moving from one crappy apartment to another!).  We had unscrewed the legs to our build-your-own end tables to facilitate easier transport.  As the last boxes were being loaded onto the moving truck, I noticed a table leg in the corner of the living room, picked it up, and threw it into the nearest box.  Once in our new home, I discovered we had lost that table leg; we went through every box and couldn’t find it.  I called the moving company and asked them to search the truck – no luck there.  Ultimately, we had to dispose of the now three-legged table.

A number of years later, we finally bought our first home, with room enough for all those miscellaneous items we had previously stored in my in-laws’ basement.  I’m sure you’ve guessed it –  upon opening one of the stored boxes, we discovered the missing table leg for the table we no longer had.

♦  Which brings to mind the very first move we made after our oldest daughter was born.  Again, we had very efficient movers.  They came into the house, grabbed everything they saw, and loaded it into the truck.  For whatever reason, the only truck available that day was the biggest one they had, with cab-over storage.  It was only after the truck pulled away, and the baby started crying for her bottle, that we realized the very first thing that been loaded (by mistake) was the diaper bag which contained all the formula bottles, and it had been loaded into the cab-over area.  There was no way to get to that bag without unloading everything else.  We asked, but the movers understandably refused to unload –  and reload –  all the heavy furniture, even if we could have paid for the extra man-hours, which we couldn’t.  Needless to say, it was not a fun drive to the new apartment.

Every one of us has similar DUH stories.  I may share some more of mine in the future.  For now, however, I need to run some errands – on Sunday, in the afternoon.  I’ll be sure to watch out for speeding ambulances and clueless drivers.

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I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com

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Image by Cordelia’s Mom

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