Hey! I was talking to myself. No one reading this could possibly be stupid. (And really, what an unfortunate word. I mean, I occasionally use it to refer to myself, or even sometimes in the context of describing a ‘creative’ meal I’ve thrown together when the cupboards are bare and I don’t feel like hauling ass to the grocery store. But I digress.)
I like to think of myself as a competent person in the world. I have been out here fending for myself since I was very young, and as I have never suffered from too much self-regard, I don’t particularly mind making an ass of myself in the course of trying something new.
(Which reminds me: did you know that it IS, in fact, possible to forget how to ride a bike? I am here to tell you that it is. Story for another day.)
But I have also recognized, now that I am far, far away from the first flush of youth, that while I may see myself as completely self-reliant and so forth (and really, in the age of Google, I have been of the opinion that there is little excuse for not being able to fix one’s own toilet), there are some things I Should Not Do.
One is my taxes. I am fine with figures. I understand tax. But being self-employed and having wildly varying income from month to month and year to year means a lot of receipts. I finally found a lovely woman here in Toronto who has a tax service for artists, and for a very reasonable fee, she changed my life. Months of dread and worry? Gone. I drop off the receipts and some basic info to Tammi, and she just…takes care of it for me. It’s like magic, people. I nearly wept with gratitude the first time, and if I were a wealthy woman, I would have paid her triple her fee out of sheer, teary-eyed appreciation. Someday, Tammi.
And, the same with this very website.
I can write books. I love to decorate and cook and throw things together in a creative way. I’ve got a decent eye for what kind of styles I like, and though I am not a huge fan of shopping, I will spend more time than I care to admit, searching for the exact cut of the new white shirt I want to buy, that will suit my body and style.
But sit in front of a computer to figure out exactly how to design a website?
Easy, right? Children do it. The elderly. Thousands of
stupid intellectually challenged people, even.
But not I. No. In the midst of writing Cracked, the first thing on my list was to get my site up and going. I’d registered my domains, and done all the business-y stuff. And when I sat down to try to figure out how to do it, I’d start to go a little blurry, and I would eventually realize that I was looking at the movie listings, or searching for silver sandals, or Netflix had mysteriously appeared on my screen. And of course, life gets in the way. I’d have something I’d have to write, or I’d stay late at my part-time job, or get a rush in another one of my several freelance gigs. And then of course I became buried in writing Rehab Run, and…still no site.
So yes. I hired someone to design this for me. And she spent a few minutes showing me how to navigate it. So here we are.
Now that I’m finally up and running, I’ll probably be checking in with random thoughts, questions, photos and what have you, on a very regular basis.
But I am just as likely to somehow make the site disappear somehow. Watch this space! And if any of you handy website-builder people notice me screwing something up royally, drop me a note? And eventually I’ll figure out how to hyperlink that. Is that the term?
See what I mean?
In any event, thanks for reading, and stick around.