Issue #38 July 11th - 17th, 2003

Why Weblogs Are Cool
What's to be gained by moving it to a public forum? It can be argued that there is something vain and egotistical in putting these rants and ramblings on-line and assuming that people will want to read them.
By Grainne Lynch

Some slow afternoon and what keeps me going
Music keeps me going because it makes my heart beat faster, poetry because it brings tears to my eyes, love, because it makes me melt inside. Cute boys because they seem like the promise of all happiness.
By Dimitra Daisy

The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (Part 9)
Her youthfulness can be attributed to the powerful emotion known as excitement. An emotion that if it could be bottled and sold would probably do the world more good than the small white flower ever could.
By Rachel Queen

Good Times/Assuage
I picture vapid mountains as/we've trekked towards our sun,/and remind myself, through a lump/in the throat,/that this is just another one
By Paul Williamson

Blue Beret
If I could meet just one girl who wore a blue beret, somehow it would all turn out okay.
By JohaN Hugo


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Why weblogs are cool

On-line journals have always been a part of the Internet and their popularity has been growing steadily over the last few years. It is no longer necessary to buy a domain name and learn html in order to create an on-line journal. Sites such as LiveJournal, Blogspot and Diaryland have made it easy to keep a diary on-line and this has added to their appeal. LiveJournal has attracting over one million registered users since it was set up in March 1999. So why are so many people so eager to recount their thoughts and experiences for a nameless, faceless audience? Do weblogs offer something more than just another way to pass the time on-line?

Keeping a diary can be good for you. Writing about a bad experience in the past can be therapeutic and writing about a present problem can often put it into perspective and sometimes help you find a solution. In order to achieve a goal, one of the first things you should do is write it down. Keeping track of your progress is also recommended and a private diary or journal can be used for all these things.

What's to be gained by moving it to a public forum? It can be argued that there is something vain and egotistical in putting these rants and ramblings on-line and assuming that people will want to read them.

However, there are advantages to moving a diary on-line. For a start, it can improve the quality of the writing. Even if nobody ever reads a word of it, the fact that it is being written for an audience means that the writer takes more effort to be understood. This can improve communication skills and makes the writer more articulate.

Another advantage is the possibility of feedback. This is often the reason why people choose to write on-line. They want someone to read what they have written and tell them what they think. LiveJournal and Blogspot recognise this need and supply comments boxes at the end of each diary entry. Readers can leave comments offering support and encouragement to the writer. And this allows the reader and writer to interact. There is a definite 'feel-good factor' about having someone read and react to something you have written. It can feel like a support system for the writer and friendships can develop.

On-line communities can also develop between readers and writers. This can offer support, friendship and a common bond between members. That feeling of belonging is important. Writers from around the world can set up a domain together and share a small part of cyberspace. This community can spill into real life. For example, the annual JournalCon in America. This event includes talks on topics relating to on-line journals, and it allows people from around the country to get together. It is a social occasion.

On-line journals can also have a position effect on the people who read them. It can be inspiring to read about other people's experiences, in the same way that biographers are inspiring. The advantage of the on-line version is that it is happening right now. You are more inclined to compare your life with the life you are reading about, and this can be very motivating, especially if it is someone your own age. It can encourage healthy competition.

Reading about someone else's life can also inspire you to see the world in a different way and maybe take new risks or make new changes in your life. It can also encourage you to make changes to the world you live in. It is possible to become aware of social problems through on-line journals, and be moved to help. An example of this is the Oakland Library Appeal that was instigated by Pamie encouraged readers to donate books to a number of libraries around the US and had a huge response. Stories like these help you to believe that change is possible and that you can make it happen.

Writing is good for you. Getting feedback about something you've written is even better. But the biggest reason why blogs are cool is that they offer inspiration and encouragement. When you read stories about someone moving to a new country to live and work, or finding the love of their lives, or having a novel published it can change the way you look at the world. You say to yourself - 'If they can do, why can't I?' It makes it easier to really believe that anything and everything is possible.

Grainne Lynch

The Friends of The Heroes Weblog


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Some slow afternoon and what keeps me going

Thessaloniki, July 10th 2003

Dear Ian,

I was going to give you a list of things that keep me going when life gets ugly (because I needed one) but then the weather changed and the Pines' 'Some Slow Afternoon' came on and I realised it all came down to one thing: remembering that life is exciting. Music keeps me going because it makes my heart beat faster, poetry because it mbrings tears to my eyes, love, because it makes me melt inside. Cute boys because they seem like the promise of all happiness. Beautiful people, because they make the world brighter and thus, life worth living. Maybe 'life is thrilling' would have been a more suitable thing to have said: I don't mean 'exciting' in a bounce-out-of-bed-at-six-am-on-Christmas-morning kind of way but rather in a holding-your-breath, thanking-god-for-all-this-beauty kind of way. Wondering if he meant it to be that way or if creation surprised him by turning out this way. Like the stories you write and the kids that you will, one day, have.

Photograph by Mr Rob Brennan

As the wind blew the air grew chillier and Joe sang "I came round your house when we lost the election a few years ago" in a way I can't help but call haunting and suddenly everything fell into place for the first time in a rather long while. The world didn't seem full of invisible to everyone but me monsters but made up of potentially colourful lives to lead. Still quite possibly only visible to me but in this case it's okay. It doesn't threaten my existence - it makes it feel charmed instead. Charmed with a life-enhancing spell: somedays I feel very lucky. Like a little witch set free in a world of humans, who's knoweledge of her being different is enough to make everything okay, forever.

And yet most of the time I don't and sometimes something happens and it makes my little world break down. I don't feel the world is out to get me but I feel I've got no place to stand. That something is always infinitely more important than the weather and pop songs even though as everyone knows the weather is a very serious thing indeed. And pop songs maybe even more so. Yet a temperature drop was enough to do what a hundred pop songs had failed to do before. By making me feel chilly it reminded me I'm alive in things I usually forget. Things fell into place. I started to pine for a life more like the one in my head. Less like the one in their eyes. I suppose the things that keep me going are the things that help me keep that in site. I was going to make you a list but it's too late and maybe it would be a better idea if I played you the song. Then you would be able to hear Joe singing " should be only that stuff. How many times have I heard it before? All of them still not enough".

Love and kisses,

Dimitra Daisy   


(more by this author)   


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The long lost diary of Miss S L Gleaden (Part 9)


The diary of Miss S L Gleaden found itself at the mercy of a small rubber dinghy floating out to sea. It rejoiced in the thought that there was not a single person, for miles around, who was about to carelessly lose it or post it off to an unknown destination. The diary lay calmly for many days feeling the sun on its back and the wind ripple through its pages. After its hectic travels this was just the kind of rest and relaxation that the book needed.
A few days later though, the diary was remembered a slightly annoying poster stuck on the wall of Miss S L Gleaden's bedroom. The poster had shown a picture of a wrinkled looking dog sitting under the caption:

The diary, who for most of his live had lived with Miss S L Gleaden, a constant source of stress, had never had the chance to experience an empty life and had often longed for one. Lying on the boat, bobbing up and down, without a care in a world the diary suddenly realised how boring an empty life was.

It is lucky that the diary made this realisation when it did, and it was able to feel some relief as enough stress to wrinkle the face of a poodle returned to its pages, because at that moment a storm erupted. The storm made the made the waves churn and the boat fly this way and that and slightly predictably the diary was thrown from the dinghy into the swollen ocean.

By now, you may have realised the diary of Miss S L Gleaden was prone to the most un-probable events imaginable gravitating towards it. So you won't be surprised to hear that instead of falling straight to the bottom of the sea to await a slow disintegration, the diary came face to cover with a fish called Wanda. The fish who was never in a good mood on account of the unfortunate name given to it by parents with a warped sense of humour, was always on the look out for someone or something to make miserable and swallowed the diary whole.

The diary's voyage didn't end there though, and many weeks later it washed up on the shores of a small town in the long forgotten county of Cumbria. Locals were impressed by the story contained within, not to mention the book's ability to wash up on the shores of a landlocked town, and after many hours were able to track down the explorer herself and made sure that the book returned to her but not before they had read it from cover to cover of course...

Day 17

The Cumbrian locals, who decided that Miss S L Gleaden's plans to go on holiday were not a bad one, return after a short break to Blackpool, to continue reading the diary…

The past few days have been filled with frustration but despite the fact, that our plans to make an escape from Burma have been gone less smoothly than we might have hoped, we are now hurtling westwards. I'm getting ahead myself hear, and as I have been neglecting you dear diary, I should fill you in on the previous day's activities.

I and E was able to find an eager buyer for his youthful looking horse. Within seconds of advertising it for sale he found 5 eager buyers. The six men had bartered furiously. The 5 buyers outbidding themselves to such a degree that it ended up with none of them being able to afford to pay for the horse. After a few hours of arguments where they tried to bid downwards they clubbed together and bought the horse for an extortionate amount of money. I and E had beamed from ear to ear and promised the horse that he would return from his travels with enough money to buy him back. The horse did not seem too concerned. His new owners didn't look like the sort of people who would forever be making trips into the mountains. He looked forward to a life of leisure where he would be treated like a king.

My part of the escape plan is progressed slightly less satisfactorily but despite the poor communications with the western world after hours of trying I got hold of someone:
"Harry!!" I cried delightedly down the phone.
Back home, harry is my partner in crime. He's a short bald man who can supply me with just about anything I need for round the world adventures. You name it he'll do it. And if he can't, he'll know a man who can. Hope flooded through me as he began to speak.
"yer alright there love? Yer mum tells me yer in Burma?!" his casual tone suggested Burma was no further than the shop down the road and that rather than illegally entering a country under a strict military regime, I had popped out to buy a pint a milk.
"I'm bit stuck if I'm honest with you" I confessed "I need a favour. I wouldn't ask but I could do with a bit of help…"
"Say no more…"Harry cut in, "what do you need?"
"I've promised two friends a holiday, and, umm, somehow I need to get back home!"
A long pause followed and I mentally pictured Harry scratching his chin.
"'fraid I don't have any contacts in Burma" he said apologetically "if yer could get to India I might be able to help. Yeah I think that's yer best bet…"
I thanked him for his help and agreed to try to keep him informed of my progress.

I pulled out my readers digest map of the world and starred at it. Molly, I and E's wife, came to see what I was doing. Since she had heard the news that she was going away on holiday she seemed to have become so much more youthful that I had my suspicions that she had sneakily been eating the small white magical flower. In fact though, I think her youthfulness, can be attributed to the powerful emotion known as excitement. An emotion that if it could be bottled and sold would probably do the world more good than the small white flower ever could.

We stared at Burma, then our eyes flicked to India, then back again. It didn't look far.

"My brother says that this part of the border is the easiest place to cross." Molly pointed at small curve in the border between Burma and Bangladesh. "If we could cross there we might be able to find someone with a boat who is willing to smuggle us across to India."

I nodded. It was as good a plan as any.

At that moment a loud roar broke our thought. We got up quickly and looked outside only to see a very proud I and E sitting in a small blue dated mini.

"it goes quicker than five horses and doesn't stop every minute to eat grass!"

We loaded our cases into the boot, and took our lives in our hands as we climbed into the car…and that brings you up to date dear diary I can only hope that this will not be the last time I write in you.

Rachel Queen

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Good Times
(Or the way that I remember that the mountains aren't infinite)

It's hard, I know,
this process, sometimes, no longer a
palatial procession,
as we fight and argue and
become weary,
as the day turns into night
turns into day,
we find it hard to meet.

But then I think of
Lesvos or Llanbadarn or Cwrt Mawr,
drunk on Sommerbrau
or defenceless on the lawn,
I picture vapid mountains as
we've trekked towards our sun,
and remind myself, through a lump
in the throat,
that this is just another one.


I read about research,
and aims
and structures,
and my pupils dance and dart over the page as
I'm reminded of the Tay Estuary,
and being with her is the best thing
that's ever happened to me.

My sinking into slumber,
wearied by life and alcohol
doesn't happen so much anymore;
Though my gait still becomes stiff-legged at
the thought of this place-
I know there's something else,
like Soloman's gold
or Sundays where we gorge on
rolls and
alcohol in the sun-
galvanised by something else,
as she walks into the room.

Paul Williamson

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Blue Beret

If I could meet just one girl who wore a blue beret, somehow it would all turn out okay. I've never wanted much from life, but suddenly today I found out that this one thing I do want. I think it's to do with this story I was reading behind the counter today, in which a very drunk and very jolly man goes fishing with this other young man, who is however quite earnest and bland, and this other young man has a girl who is also young and who wears a blue beret. And anyway, I decided that that's what I want too, to go fishing with a girl in a blue beret. Also, you don't ever see them fishing: they just walk down this long dusty road in, I think it's Spain somewhere, and you know they're going fishing.

On the way home I looked through all the girls on the tram to see if there was one that looked like she may be hiding one, but no-one seemed to fit the bill, and so I have decided to lower my standards, slightly, as I've been known to do on the odd occasion. Well, what I decided is that I wouldn't mind buying the blue beret myself, if only I could find someone to wear it and look even moderately jaunty. I think I could like someone just for looking like that, in a blue beret.

But at the moment, there's no-one like that really, that I know. I just carry on each day, I go to the shop and there I pass the day, reading stories when there's no-one around. Some days it's actually really busy, and I don't get to read at all, but then I think - in the back of my mind, while being quite efficient really (it's not a difficult job) - of the stories that I'll write myself one day.

There is one, specifically, that is very short, and on those days I go over it and over it in the back of my mind, but somehow it's not quite right yet, although I know one day something will fall into place unexpectedly - something quite unforeseen, or maybe it's already there and I just keep missing it - and it will turn out quite perfect. And then what I'll do is, I'll find some very skilled person, who will kindly - perhaps I'll have to pay him or her to do it - copy it out for me in fine black embroidery on a blue beret, and then I will send it to the girl I really like, and she will wear it, and we'll go fishing.
And then everything will work out quite okay.

JohaN Hugo

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