That was my count for last month, an average of 100 per day.
Smart phones have changed the way we all talk to each other and I'm pretty happy about it.
I can have all-day conversations with friends, little snips of chatter--haaaay, how you bb, meetings grrr, brb at the dentist, oh jeezus just ran into P!!!--and sometimes it's not words at all, just a smiley or frowny. It makes me feel connected, like I know the barometer of somebody's hours, their days, their life.
Old people sign their names to texts. They use good grammar and full sentences.
Sometimes I have to urban-dictionary my nieces' texts.
That said, sometimes these brief little digital snips are confusing.
You misunderstand, misinterpret, miss one here and there.
I've been broken up with over text.
One of last year's amours freaked out over a phrase--it was more than the phrase, but the phrase, texted, was the tipping point, and we were done.
These days, if my phone rings, it takes me a minute. I stare at the screen.
Who's calling me? Why didn't they just text?
Today's soundtrack is Shad, a Kenyan-Canadian charmer who tore it up at last week's block party.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...