Newscoma

I decided to go and hear what folks were saying about the big-bellied rapist yesterday.

I’m not going to use their names here and basically what I learned has been very accurately covered in this story from The Pacer, which is a publication for UT Martin. It’s a good read and focuses on the lack of communication about certain aspects of the case and how that has created tension/rumors around the community.

The TBI is here and the local police departments have beefed up patrols trying to ensure safety but there is a heightened level of anxiety. Two students on campus have created a Facebook page that is offering a place to talk about where to purchase pepper spray/self-defense tools and is also escorting women to where they need to be. It’s a good idea, seems to be highly organized and is a place where students are getting validation for the fear they feel. I also noticed that it is also a place where folks are saying what they are hearing. It’s what we’ve all heard quite frankly but there hasn’t been any confirmation on any of these aspects so when it comes to rumors, I’m taking some of it as just another reason to be cautious but not necessarily as fact. There is even an interactive map on where the attacks were created by a student on Google maps.

The rumor mill is feeding a lot of the fear in the town as well as the rapist. It’s the old, very real standard that there is a monster in our midst but we don’t know who the monster is. Folks just want to know what’s going on. And, let’s remember, we live in a society where we are all a little bit of Gus Grissom. As we aren’t hearing official notification on certain aspects of the case, people are trying to put things together themselves. I’m afraid that’s not very helpful and is feeding into the terror.

Women need to know what they are up against.

One young woman said “I’m very concerned that I don’t know what he’s actually after. Is it college students? Is it younger women or does he care? I wish we knew more about what he’s after. I wish the police would let us know if there is a pattern. Are they blondes or brunettes? What is the age range? I really want to know.”

I don’t know at this point if the TBI is allowing local law enforcement authorities to give any information out so they have more to work with. I’ve seen this happen before and the TBI usually locks down a case. I’m not saying I agree with it, but it’s usually pretty standard procedure. This has just been my experience at least having worked with them in the past.

“One question I have is that I’m not clear of whether or not he’s in the house when they get home,” another woman asked. “Is he already inside? And how is he getting inside? Is he breaking in through windows or picking a lock? I wish this was clearer.”

That’s a good question. I talked to a local business yesterday afternoon who has quite a bit of rental property. They are being very aggressive in handing out information, trying to meet with their tenants and checking locks in their townhomes/apartments/houses to make sure everything is in order. I believe that’s an excellent idea. There was also some discussion of meeting with their renters and offering practical advice and answering questions.

“I’m scared. Every little noise scares me because the last rape happened just down the street from me,” yet another concerned woman said. “My son and I are terrified. I keep hearing all this different stuff and it’s hard to determine what’s real and what’s not.”

One of the toughest young women I know still lives with her family. The incident that happened on Sunday scared her and the girl that I know who is usually billy bad ass was very somber. “Dad left for awhile and I was asleep but I heard him lock the door as he went out to breakfast with his friends, which woke me up. I didn’t go back to sleep until he came home. I guess I’m more freaked out about this than I thought.”

Personally, I don’t believe older women are in this guy’s demographic if you piece this stuff together, but that doesn’t really matter in the big picture. Women are scared and rightfully so. When folks are sitting over a cup of coffee or dinner, or even a beer, and they keep hearing information that has not been verified or denied, it creates a larger issue and feeds more fear. This issue concerns me. The mystery of the monster in our midst and the conversation laced with terror coming from women will continue to grow.

The feelings are valid. Everyone wants to feel safe and they don’t.

I was talking to my friend The Engineer and we both agreed that right now any man with a big gut is being eyed warily. This, of course, was to be expected, but in a conversation that included several community leaders late yesterday, there is some heightened concern that an innocent man is going to get hurt.

But the paranoia is there and, I guess, at this point can’t be avoided.

“Everyone on campus was looking for someone, anyone that fits this description,” one female student said. “I found myself really studying men who have a big stomach. I know that may not be fair, but who knows if that’s the guy.”

One thing I’ve seen happening as well is that each night, there is another rumor of another attack. There hasn’t been one since Sunday but my phone and email account has been inundated with messages asking if there had been another attack on Monday and then again last night with one woman even leaving me a message on my Facebook page.

This is the anatomy of the fear in the community, but the reality is very simple.

We are a town waiting for the next one. The rapist seems to be escalating his attacks. So one of these days, one of these messages is going to be real.

As I said, we are a town waiting.

We don’t know anything official. We may not be hearing anything official at this point but I do know that is not stopping the conversation.

One woman summed it up perfectly. “I’m just scared. I don’t want to be alone. This man raped a girl in front of her own parents. If he will do that, he will do anything.”

I didn’t want to go nuts today over at NewsTechZilla with all the cool stuff I found at CopyBlogger this morning as I’ve already linked them over there this morning. Also, go read Kathy Tyson’s featured article right now. It kicks the proverbial hiney. Seriously, it is some good stuff.

Anyway, I found this:

When it comes to the things that keep us from writing, you’ll see the usual villains pop up. Lack of time is a big one, as are the various other life distractions that take us away from the keyboard.

But based on my personal experience, there’s a nasty demon hiding behind the excuses we make. This four-letter word represents a condition we don’t like to admit to ourselves, much less utter in polite conversation.

Yep, it’s the “F” word.

Fear.

I am no authority on fear, I assure you. I can tell you I’m afraid of a lot of things. I’m sitting on three novels that I won’t let anyone read. I’m afraid of being unemployed, as that seems to be happening to a lot of my friends right now. I’m ready to make some big moves and I second guess myself. I’m human.

We all have our own fears. Your mileage may vary.

But I was thinking after I read this that I know a lot of writers who aren’t writing or blogging right now. I know a lot of writers who aren’t writing in my little slice of the planet and their dream was to be a writer. Not everyone is going to be Jane Austin or Harper Lee. But that’s already been done, hasn’t it?

One woman I know said, “I don’t think anyone would be interested in what I write.” This is where I call foul. If you don’t think you are interesting, how will anyone else think you are interesting.

Everyone has a story. If you measure your story to another person’s story, you will be disappointed each and every time.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If you are a writer, write.

The heck with everyone else. You might be a hell of a lot more interesting than you think.

And, I write this to remind myself as much as you that the only thing we have to fear is …

Spiders.

Ron is a great writer. He’s on about a kajillion blogs right now and he waxes philosophical on this beat of blogging.

Bloggers are vain.

Maybe we’re not physically vain, though I know some bloggers are. What we are is emotionally vain. Not to generalize or anything (he says right before launching into a series of broad generalizations), but we’re a lot of misfits. Basically, there’s no such thing as a normal blogger who doesn’t do it for pay alone. Hell, even those that do it for pay are probably weird, too. We’re overworked young professionals. We’re mothers stuck indoors with the kids all day who need to speak to someone on an adult level. We’re geeks, dorks, and dweebs who hide behind websites or nom de blog or the general anonymity of the Internet to reach out to other people in a safe manner without all the fear that comes with meeting someone face to face.

It’s a lot easier to relax and be yourself online (or be a totally fake person, but if you try that kind of thing you’ll generally get found out one way or another). You don’t have to worry about the fact that you need a shave, or that you’ve got popcorn husks in your teeth, or that you’re a 450lb albino balding midget. Nobody’s judging you for how you look, or how you’re dressed, or how much money you make. It’s all about how well you write, the links you find, and the connections you make with other bloggers with your personality.

The whole post is amazing and if you want to see someone break it down on why bloggers blog, this is your best bet today.

UPDATED: Aunt B. is talking about this as well this morning. As I’m still going through post-election blogging uncertainty and a blogging mini-identity crisis, the best thing I can add to her post is our words on the Internet, we want them to please others but in the end, they have to please us as individuals as well.

The Internet is a fickle bitch. As Ron articulated and as Aunt B. did as well, you have to have some real about yourself or people won’t come by to visit. I’ll never forget having lunch with Huck a couple of years ago and the man with him, his name escapes me, said he likes to read blogs where it’s not just one thing. That he wants to feel a connection with the writer. He also said that if political blogging is your thing, it’s best to feel like there is a real person behind it. I’ve taken this sage words of advice to heart. I figure that you guys come here because you choose to.

And I’m grateful to each and every one of you for being a part of Newscoma. It’s a wonderful bond as there are times I feel completely geographically challenged but the Internet and bloggers has opened the world to me. It’s important for me on a personal level. Yes, I do this for me. But also, yes, I like the connection of feeling a part of something bigger than myself.

Wow, deep this morning.

The tattoos at Contrariwise are absolutely amazing. From Kurt Vonnegut to Sylvia Plath with a little Dr. Suess thrown in, each tattoo has a literary background.

This is one that honors Ernest Hemingway who wrote:

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Hat Tip to Neatorama

NPR has JK Rowling’s commencement speech online. I’ve read it twice. I’m going to put a lengthy excerpt of it here as it’s really a good speech on learning from failure.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.

Read the whole thing. Been feeling like a failure recently so this spoke to me. Sorry about being a downer but it’s true.

Things usually look up and as I am an optimist, I choose to believe that.

Killa did an exercise that I think is wonderful. She’s a better writer than she gives her self credit.

The first sentence: “In a seedy little casino on the outskirts of Las Vegas…..”

The last sentence: “From then on, they became the stars of the local fire department in Louisiana….”

The idea of this story is to be the most random, “What the hell” story in the blogosphere. I think I succeeded and showed everyone how I should just stick to design work and not write. Ever.

You need to read the whole thing. It’s hysterical.

What a great writing exercise. I’d like to see what Big Stupid Tommy could do with this.

All in about a span of four hours yesterday, because I told you I had a ridiculously busy day yesterday, I had one of those impossible moments etched in time that was, in a word, horrifying.

Something happened yesterday that sort of really put things in perspective, and to be honest, I had a mini-freak out.

I had to go cover your random accident that I occasionally have to do. Now, I’ll be honest, car accidents are not my favorite things (I’m not unique, I can’t imagine anyone liking them) and this one had created a mini diesel spill in Hooterville East. So, me being all Brenda Starr, headed to what I thought was a day in the life of Newscoma.

I went to take pictures because that’s what you do.
When I got to where I was supposed to be, the police let me through the barricade and I went about my business as I’m wont to do. I drove past a deputy who let me by where he had a road blocked off, made a few pleasantries and cracks with him, but I still couldn’t see the wreck. He waved me through.

As I pulled around the corner, I saw the metal carnage where an 18-wheeler had hit a vehicle. From a distance, I could only see the truck because a couple of ambulances were in the way, and the front of this beast was torn all to hell. I knew that once I got up there, whatever it had hit had not faired well. Part of covering wrecks for the last decade and a half. I knew someone was hurt and 18-wheelers can cause some wicked damage. A lot of times, you know if an 18-wheeler is damaged, that whatever it hit was going to be pretty much destroyed.

And then I saw the other vehicle.

It was a mini-van that looked just like Homer’s mini-van right in front of where my grandparents used to live.

I pulled my car over and went running. The vehicle was absolutely leveled, the front end was torn up beyond belief and all I could think was “ohmygawdohmygawditismysister.” I deal with crisis better than the average guy, but this was something that my mind could not wrap around.

I went running as fast as I could, and for the first time in 17 years of covering accidents (which I don’t love but don’t bother me too much) I thought I was going to deal with something I’d never dealt with before. I thought I was going to see one of my family members in a wreck, something I’ve always been a bit terrified of.

I thought Homer was the fatality I was going to cover.

One of the firemen, who knew me, realized I thought it was Homer and pretty much tackled me. “It’s not her, Trace” he said softly, reaching out to me. “It’s not her.”

(And this, my friends, is the good part of living in a small town. He knew me well enough to know exactly what I was thinking. Thank God for him.)

I couldn’t breathe.

All I knew is the van was demolished and it looked like Homer’s. After I took a few seconds to calm down, I went about my job, what I’d been sent there to do.

Later, I went to do the other stuff that I had to do which was shoot pictures for a Christmas parade, but I have to tell you, I couldn’t shake seeing that van. This was one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had working at the newspaper.

I’ll be honest. I then went and had a couple of beers and had a good sobbing, bone-rattling cry.

I don’t think I ever want to go through that again. As I write this in the middle of the night, I can only tell you one thing. It was somebody’s someone, something I’ve always known to be true but that I have learned to separate myself from, and yesterday a family lost their loved one.

And, for a moment, I thought that someone was going to be me.

Because of the impossibly long, ridiculous day, I haven’t seen Homer since that accident. When I do, which should just be in a couple of hours, I swear I’m going to hug her and just make sure she’s real.

It makes my heart just choke up.

I work with a lot of people that are younger than I am, although that has little to do with what I’m about to write about. I don’t think that the word “fear” has an age limit on it. But I have heard them talk about the topic a bit on the subject that Shaun Groves addressed in a post this morning about this post, which is called “The Nasty Four-Letter Word that Keeps You From Writing.”

Fear affects us all more than we care to admit, and it’s especially insidious for writers. Writing online is one of those activities where you’re really putting yourself out there, and the critics are always waiting to pounce. But as we’ll see below, failure and mediocrity are not the only things we fear.

Most fear works at the subconscious level and manifests itself in the form of procrastination and writer’s block. We want to write that novel or business book, start that killer blog, release that article or white paper that boosts our business authority… and yet we keep putting it off.

I don’t like to waste time on regret, because, well, it’s a waste of time. But looking back, I see I’ve wasted so much time in my writing life because I let fear hold me back.

And the truth is, every time I push myself in a new direction, I’m still afraid. I don’t think that ever changes—it’s just part of the game.

The key is to not let it stop you

I’ve written a couple of books. I don’t let anyone read them, so I get the fear. I wouldn’t even know where to start to get them published. That’s why I respect Kathy T. so much as she just put her mind to it and has released one book and is looking on releasing a second. She’s fearless. I like that.

I actually started a blog in 2001 and I didn’t continue it because I didn’t think it was good enough. When I started this blog, I got through that. I would read folks like Aunt B., Sharon Cobb, TV on the fritz and think to myself that I couldn’t write or articulate like they did.

I didn’t think that anyone would give a damn about what I had to say. When I realized that I was doing this for me and was just as happy as a clam when I was getting about 15 hits a day, I realized I had denied myself a great deal of joy. Now that I have folks visit and then I go to visit them, I have been given a great deal of happiness that I would have never imagined.

Joy is a good thing.

With that said, over the years I’ve stopped myself because I didn’t feel “good” enough. But, as I’m looking at celebrating two years on this blog at the end of the month, I’ve realized that I really did deny myself so much.  Those three people I read long before I blogged are now people I have met that I really like and enjoy.

I guess the thing is that deciding to be fearless is about one of the toughest things I’ve done. I am pretty transparent on this blog, although I admit that I’ve toned it down over time. I don’t vent about the job like I used to (which was pretty stupid but, of course, I didn’t know what getting Dooced was two years ago either.) I enjoy it more than ever because I’ve been able to be realize I don’t have to please other people, just myself.

About a year ago I decided that I needed to do something everyday that just scares the crap out of me. I try to do that, and it’s opened a bunch of doors. I’m writing this to you this morning because recently I took a walk out of my comfort zone and I just got my first regular paid blogging gig.

Yup, I’m getting paid to write at Teevieo. My first post went up this morning and I can read in it how nervous I am about it all. It’s just a side thing but it’s important to me, and I’m glad I walked through the fear and attempted to move forward. I hope you will come and visit me over there sometimes. I’ll be writing there about three times a week. Don’t worry, because I know you were biting your nails, I’m still here as well. Hopefully in the next little while, I can find some more cajones to get me to other new and exciting levels.

Fear is an amazing thing. Now that I’m older, I have found that I’m not letting it paralyze me like I did 20 years ago.

Now back to your regular scheduled Newscoma, already in progress.