I don't know who's responsible for this beautiful photo because I stole it from the Internet. In fact, blogging turned me into a photo thief, and I know I'm not the only one.

I chose this button because today is the fifth anniversary of Timothy J. Lambert's LiveJournal. That date is important to me not just because it gave my writing partner more presence on the Internet. In the winter of 2004, we were finishing writing Timothy James Beck's Someone Like You as well as Cochrane Lambert's Three Fortunes in One Cookie. All my writing partners were proofreading SLY, Tim was adding his final chapters to 3F, and I was at loose ends. So, as I have many times, after a couple of weeks, I followed Tim's example and started my own LiveJournal. It pretty much ended my time on message boards (just as message boards had once ended my time in chat rooms).

I have no idea how many blogs I was reading at the height of the blogging craze, but as bloggers have tapered off updating their blogs, my reading has fallen off. There are times I think about ending my LJ because it's frequently difficult to come up with content, and I know that my readership, like everyone's, is less than it used to be. (Hello, Facebook and Twitter.)

But then I think about how many interesting, funny, kind, quirky, and good people I've met through here. I consider all it's taught me about HTML and formatting. It's given me a forum to discuss art, photography, literature, and politics. It's provided a means for family and longtime friends to keep up with what's going on in my life (though I've never used it to discuss those things I want to keep private). It's also given me a means to share news about one friend with many other friends--in a way that's more fun to me than e-mail.

I've tried hard to keep it from ever being insulting or mean-spirited. I've enjoyed using it to share photographs as I try to become a better photographer.

And of course, it gives me a place to put everybody else's photos after I steal them.

To get back to the reason for this post and the button, during these five years, I've never gotten tired of getting a glimpse at the world through Tim's perspective, courtesy of his photos, his stories, his association with Scout's Honor, and his art. So happy blog-iversay, Tim, and thank you.

I had fun this past week briefly remembering, with Tim and Timmy, the first online hoax we fell prey to. Good times.

This photo should explain my absence.
Hope to get some stuff photographed and posted tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Marika seems to want me to sew again. Look what she sent!

Also, I've been trying to convert videos taken with my cell phone to something viewable online. Technology makes me feel like a moron.

It always surprises me when people who know me in ways other than the Internet are skeptical about the time I spend online or the relationships I've formed here. Let's assess this... Without the Internet, there would be no Timothy James Beck novels, or the relationships with the editors who bought THE DEAL and THREE FORTUNES, not to mention my two Coventry books. I met my writing partners on the Internet, and theirs are three of the most vital friendships in my life. I wouldn't know Steve C or Ron--or know that Ron is my cousin a few times removed. I wouldn't know Rhonda or Lindsey or Sugar. Tim wouldn't be living in Houston, he'd have no Rex, the dogs he's fostered wouldn't have received his unique care before going to loving forever homes. He wouldn't know The Big H!

Y'all wouldn't be reading this. I wouldn't know you or interact with people from all across the U.S. and the world. The many writers who have inspired me and become my friends and acquaintances would be just names on book covers. There would be no FOOL FOR LOVE with all its funny/sad/quirky/amazing stories.

For me, it's a no-brainer. The Internet, with all its hazards (we all read about the scams and disappointments weekly--and I've had a few unpleasant experiences, too), provides a powerful means of connection.

So when I was up late working and housekeeping on Saturday night and into the pre-dawn hours of Sunday morning, it was fun to follow, with thousands of people across the globe, the Tweets from Heather and Jon Armstrong (dooce.com and blurbomat.com) while she was in labor with their second daughter. I don't know them, I just read their blogs and have for years, which makes them part of my daily life in that unique Internet way.

During the months of her pregnancy, Dooce provided a monthly shot of her expanding tummy. One of the last ones, a self-mocking portrayal of her very pregnant self with a beer tucked into her waistband, a cigarette hanging from her lips, a bag of powdered doughnuts ready to be stuffed into her overly made-up face under badly teased hair, became her most recent masthead. It was her response to the small percentage of people from among her million readers who criticize her life and mothering choices, and it still cracks me up whenever I go to her site.

It awed me that when she posted a photo of her newborn on Twitter, it received sixteen THOUSAND views in no time flat. Then I was dumbfounded by how many people didn't understand that the first "name" the two proud parents provided--Lil Donette--was a joke based on her pregnancy photo. With the Internet, you take the crazy with the good.

Welcome to the world Marlo Iris Armstrong, and thank you for making June 14 a reason to be happy.

If you, my LJ readers who I'm always grateful to connect with, would like some sweet happiness of your own, please comment with a page number between 1 and 611, and another number between 1 and 25, and I'll consult the happiness book for you.

I'm not sure the right order to tell this story, so I'll just plunge in and trust you to keep up with me. A few days after our return from Saints and Sinners, I began reading a novel I picked up there. It's not a new novel: Mysterious Skin by Scott Heim. In fact, it's been around long enough that a movie has already been made from it. I hadn't read the novel or seen the movie. After I began reading it, I couldn't put it down until I had to because my eyes were crossing. I went to sleep, then picked it up from the bedside table as soon as my eyes opened the next morning. People, when your bladder has turned thirty-five a few times, trust me, THIS IS AMAZING. I didn't get out of bed until I read the last page of the book. It was haunting, well-written, and--obviously!--compelling.

Before Saints and Sinners, the only thing I really knew about Scott Heim was that he and I had a mutual online friend on Facebook: amanda_mary, who I originally came to know through Mark G. Harris. You know how sometimes you start reading someone online and you just instantly like that person? And the more you read, the more reasons you have to like her (or him)? That's the way Amanda is for me. She's a lot younger than I am, way cooler, and has a pretty different life from mine. I like the way she thinks and the way she expresses herself. If she moved next door to me, I'd immediately think the hipness quotient of my street went up a notch (as long as she didn't park her car in front of The Compound where I like to park mine when it's outside the gates).

I decided as a little surprise for her, I'd make a point of meeting Scott Heim at Saints and Sinners and get my photo taken with him. David Puterbaugh made that easier at the opening party at the W Hotel when he pointed out Scott to me. David said he wanted to meet him, too, so we sashayed our butts over to where Scott was talking to someone.

Flashback: My very first year at Saints and Sinners (2006), I was in a conversation with another writer when two people came up and edged me away from him. It was annoying at the time, and I felt like a big geek standing there looking at the air around me. Then my gaze fell on the sweet, smiling visage of a stranger who turned out to be one Mark G. Harris; I asked him if he knew where a restroom was; he got that information and accompanied me to one; and out of that little incident came all kinds of wonderful things.

I did NOT MEAN to do the same thing, taking Scott away from his conversational partner, and I'm sure David didn't either. But since it happened, I hope it freed this Unknown Man to meet someone as terrific as Mark G. Harris who will likewise enhance his life in myriad ways. Just in case, however, a big I'M SORRY to Unknown Man.

Scott Heim is a delight. When I mentioned Amanda, he said they'd been talking online for years. He recognized David from the S&S program, and before you know it, we had a merry little group surrounding him. I managed to get a few more photos, including these:

Authors Timothy J. Lambert, 'Nathan Burgoine, Scott Heim


Authors Jeffrey Ricker, David Puterbaugh, Scott Heim

Tonight, Famous Author Rob Byrnes has been live-blogging on Facebook from the Lambda Literary Awards. So we could all learn AS IT HAPPENED that Scott Heim won for We Disappear in the Best Gay Fiction category. Congratulations, Scott! Fortunately, I picked up this book when I got Mysterious Skin. I know what just moved to the top of my To Be Read pile.

Catfishes love you.

This is just what I needed.

They are called buttons, badges, pins, and pinbacks. And on Facebook, they are called flair. My Facebook bulletin board is running out of room for the flair I've been sent. Yet I can't seem to remove any of them to make room for new ones. I need a bigger virtual bulletin board.

LJ has been so quiet. Maybe it's because everyone is on Facebook trying to say twenty-five new things about themselves. If you want to friend me or read my LJ through FB, just let me know. Same with following me on Twitter. Comment here or do the becky(at)beckycochrane.com e-mail thing and we'll connect.

Speaking of the e-mail thing, in the days before Tim and I set up accounts and web sites for me, I used to get e-mail at his account. I haven't used that address for so long that I forget to check it. Unfortunately, several people or businesses still use it, and thus did I miss a signing that I really wanted to go to on January 17. More details later when I pick up the actual book I'd planned to buy.

Today, Tom, Tim, and I--no doubt preparing for our upcoming visit from Endora Joan--cleaned all the windows inside and out. They're not perfect, but they're much better--they still had a lot of the dust kicked up by Hurricane Ike on them. He just NEVER LEAVES, that Ike.

Then tonight, I asked Tim if he'd color my roots. They are--I don't know--some color people call gray or something. I can't be bothered with those details. While he was doing it, he said that thing you never want to hear from your dentist, gynecologist, or hairdresser--WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? After my heart rate dropped back down to 100 or so, he realized the brush he was using had a little of HIS color on it--as in BLUE. I was almost one of the cool kids! But since he caught it, my hair's a sedate brownish/reddish color again. (Note to Tim: It looks good. Thank you!)

Ah, the Boss just began playing on my iTunes. That's the only part of the Superbowl I watched, though I did catch a couple of the commercials later. Somehow, I ended up reading people's comments on the halftime show. You know, I want to know all these critics and naysayers who could kick ass on stage like Bruce or Madonna when they're in their fifties. Because frankly, I couldn't have done what they do in my freaking twenties.

This is why I shouldn't read comments on news and entertainment stories. I told Marika the other night that I think they should just shut down that whole comment function since people are so very, very brave and perfect and superior when they're sitting at a monitor and no one can see them. I'm betting they don't have blue hair, either.

There are days when I accomplish so little that I meant to do, and Monday was one of those days.

Those few things I did manage to do somehow went awry.

People reminded me why I interact best with dogs and Barbie dolls. Oh, if you're reading this, I'm not talking about YOU. Or Peter at GMHC, who's more than a sweetheart. Just all those other people.

Once again, a retrograded Mercury made me its bitch.

Good luck to y'all who are planning to brave my culinary and firemaking skillz Tuesday night.

You're a LiveJournal Junkie!

Well, maybe you don't live or die for LiveJournal, but it's what gets you up in the morning. Guilty of reloading your friends page over and over throughout the day? Thought so. Quick, get some fresh air - before you become a full fledged addict!