I suck at Twitter. 140 characters are simply not enough for me. I want not to suck a Twitter, because I think it’s kind of cool to connect with people I otherwise would never be able to meet, but brevity is not in my wheelhouse, and my hashtags are amusing to me alone. Recently a casual acquaintance of mine who apparently reads my lame-o tweets from time to time but doesn’t follow me, because I am simply not captivating enough at or under 140, messaged me with some tone I might add, writing, “You know that you’re a plagiarist, right?” The message was prompted by this tweet:
“You’re lucky they don’t sue you for intellectual property infringement :-)” The smiley face emoticon was cute. Really? Well, I suppose so. I DID take the name of my blog from the lyrics of my favorite song, so yeah, Ed, I stole from you. He wasn’t the first in history to string those words together either though, so to my accuser, I say “suck it.” Because I am classy and used the f-word like three times in my last post, and “suck it” is lighthearted enough when said with a smile not to offend deeply. I’ve used Barenaked Ladies song titles as blog post titles, so yeah, Ed, thanks for not coming after me for those too. I admit wrongdoing, and further, I’ll admit that thievery and copyright infringement (Is that even the thing I’ve done? Larceny is stealing property from someone, so it’s actually probably not larceny, but what is the name of the crime I’ve committed? Help me out, legal eagles.) hadn’t occurred to me at the time I launched my creative writing therapy. I launched the blog four days after learning my son was afflicted with a debilitating disease and I was broken. “Launch” is awfully darn self-important, Wendy, go on with your bad self. Who am I kidding? Writing forced me to stop crying long enough to focus on the screen, diverting my full attention from the diagnosis. Writing saved me then and does still, and nobody reads this anyway. Rest assured that if Ed Robertson or a member of his or the band’s legal team ask me to cease and desist, I will.
I DO steal words all the time. Don’t you? None of us owns language, and few of us express truly original, never before heard ideas in 2015. I don’t consider myself a plagiarist because the content of my
rants posts is developed in my head and heart, and I pull from the only lexicon I know. The worst part of this freaking tweet is that I didn’t put a period at the end of the second sentence. Dammit, @schwinngirl20! See? I suck at Twitter. Here are a few things I wish like hell I had written, but instead, have STOLEN for inclusion here. Because apparently thieving is how I roll–
- This post title. Not the thievery part; that’s just an ordinary word, people. The NASCAR part was a gift from my boss, and as she said the words, I whipped out my phone, typing the title of a post I knew I’d develop some day in the near future. According to her, it’s a reference to scrapbooking. I don’t craft (yesterday’s news), but I know from others that scrapbooking can be damn near bloodsport for those who do it well. I can’t speak for the nation of scrapbookers, and I seriously doubt they’re all caucasian and overweight. See? Stereotypes are dangerous, everyone. But these words strung together in this order belong to someone else. Sue me. Actually, please don’t. I took a huge pay cut a few years ago, and seriously have not recovered financially yet. The title is apropos of absolutely nothing. No need to dig here.
- This card. It came in the mail this week from my best friend and I LOVE it. And her.
- These words from my dear friend in the form of an email follow-up to my previous post. I love her.
We might not have met earlier in life but we found each other when it mattered. . . As for your son I remain quiet because I don’t know what to say. But here are my only thoughts on it. He has you. And you have him. And if he needs anything right now it is a kick ass mom that will fight for him to have as much as a normal life as possible. And I think that’s why you guys were brought together. Because he was going to need someone like you down then line. And he has it.
- Furiously Happy, by Jenny Lawson, a writer whose words matter to me. I haven’t even read it yet, but it’s perfect, I know it is. Hers was the second blog I’d ever read because a friend recommended this post to me. The first time I read it, I laughed so hard I woke up my entire family. I’ve recommended it to anyone who will listen, and have received no fewer than seven Beyoncés as a thank you for the recommendation. I’m going to my first book signing next week to hear and meet her. I’m not super smooth around famous people, and I’m nervous. BUT I have long said that we should tell people who mean something to us that they mean something to us, so I’m pulling up my big girl panties.
I think that about wraps up my mea culpa. Anyone who knows me knows any theft of any type I may or may not have committed is purely coincidental. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is unintended.