Facebook - C.E. Lemieux Jr

July 12, 2020

The Mask

I usually try to have a couple posts at hand in the event I don’t have time to put something together. I’ve been a little behind lately, so I pulled this one out. It was written well before the recent Covid-19 issues. Current events put a little different spin on it.

I had a conversation with one of my sons about the impact of social media on personality. He was listening to a podcast which discussed how an individual’s “in person” personality differed from their “social media” personality. It reminded me of a quote from the movie The Mask. It was a quote which got a lot of play in our household at the time.

“That’s correct, Wendy. We all wear masks, metaphorically speaking.” — Dr. Arthur Neuman (Ben Stein)

In many ways, social media has become a mask for some of us. As I mentioned before, I’d like to keep this blog free from political bias as much as I humanly can. I’m here to talk about my books, words, stories, and life. But when we talk about words and their impact, there is no denying social media has certainly had an impact upon the way our society uses words and speech. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and a host of other platforms give voice to reach the world. Buying your own website, as I have done, allows freedom of speech and an audience once unknown or unimaginable.

In a previous blog, I shared my reflections of watching the interactions of men with different political, religious, ethnic, career, and personal persuasions. They clearly differed in their positions or opinions, but they didn’t hold those differences as weapons against each other. That’s something which rarely happens in the social media controlled world we live in today.

Social media has had a profound affect upon the way we use our words. The distance and the anonymity which social media has created between individuals has made it easier to attack each other. Words which would never have been used face to face, from a position of common courtesy or respect, are thrown out with the force of a rocket. Mild mannered individuals are spurred to vent their frustrations. Introverts become online extroverts. Differences become societal emergencies. Words become weapons, or worse the impetus to use weapons and violence. People with different opinions become enemies, and the cause becomes justification for the anger.

Because of the internet, individuals who would consider themselves as introverts in public, suddenly find a voice on social media. I understand. I am one of those people who find more comfort in the written word than in the public or social interaction. However, one of the reasons I care for the written word is because it allows me time for thought. Words, sentences, and concepts in this article will be rethought and rewritten multiple times before I get the courage to share them. Social media has shown itself to be an encouragement to respond without thought.

Spontaneous interactions, social conversation, and causal encounters give cause to speak and release emotions we would normally work though. Because of its limits and relative distance, it creates greater opportunity for miscommunication. We’ve all responded at some time in a way we later found to regret with proper reflection. Social media has made that even easier.

While some people are more alive in a public or social environment, others are not. Social media has given voice to those who felt they had none. We see people rant, air their family’s dirty laundry, complain, tell others how they’ve been mistreated, and use social media as a way to bring attention unto themselves. In fact, Twitter’s entire point of being is to encourage users to spit out the first thing that comes to mind and keep it under one hundred and forty characters; something with which I have tremendous difficulty.

Another change social media has encouraged into our society is divisiveness. I’m not talking about the divisiveness between segments of society; I’m talking about differences reflected in personal interactions, in community. Before social media — when we only spoke with those with whom we worked, or interacted with people on a person to person and daily basis — we did what we could to get along. We had our opinions, but we knew others did as well. We shared space with people who might not have been just like us; we maintained decorum and a sense of community. But now, with the advancement of the internet and social media, we can retreat to a corner where everyone is the same as us. We can find others out there who think like us, and we don’t have to live among those with whom we disagree. It encourages us to disregard all those things which allowed us to function as a civil society.

Politicians and politically motivated organizations use social media as a tool to promote their ideas, beliefs, and grow their numbers. It feeds the growing divide in society. Words are used on multiple sides of the issues to both inflame the emotions of supporters and characterize the opposition in negative ways. Words are spun so fast that sometimes we can’t even tell what is true and what is not.

Of course, for all of it’s potential evils, social media has its benefits. Family and friends unite, sharing news and photos over the internet. We sometimes gain new friends. It allows those who are shut-in to reach out and find comfort. Some people find out that they are not alone. It allows groups and communities an avenue of communication. Those in need can find support groups and chat. We can more easily rally around a worthy cause. We even raise money for charity and special causes through this digital word of mouth. We support our schools and students on our pages, tweets, and posts. We promote our businesses and our book blogs over social media. We share passions, art, and thought.

When it comes down to it, it isn’t social media that has changed society, it is how we use it. We alone hold ownership of our words. Social media may feel like a mask, but it isn’t. Social media may empower our speech, but we are the ones speaking. We may use Facebook and Twitter to say what we want, but we decide how we say it, how we use the words, and whether or not we choose to hurt or heal with them. We have freedom of speech, but we also have a burden of responsibility. It’s tough, especially when we feel we have a moral obligation to speak out, but we don’t win the conversation by destroying the audience. We still live on this little green and blue ball in a small section of the universe — together.

“Words: So innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them” — Nathaniel Hawthorne

“The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” — Proverbs 18:21

June 23, 2019

“I’ll Get It.”

I have every intention of trying to keep this blog “apolitical.” This is a book author’s blog, not a politician’s. My focus is on books, words, stories, and how those things affect our lives. However, in this time in which we live, our conversations can easily reach into that arena with little to no effort. A casual statement can take you out faster than a line-drive over the pitcher’s mound. I also can’t dismiss the fact that I have my own views and core beliefs which shape my perspective, as do we all. Some of those beliefs came from the community in which I grew up.

The first years of my life were spent along the coast and in the hills of Kentucky at my grandparents’ house. As a Navy kid, we moved several times and I had new schools, new friends, and new neighborhoods with which to become accustomed. When my dad retired, we settled down in a small Oklahoma town. I spent the better part of my life in that little town, met my wife, and raised my kids. As far as I’m concerned, I’m small town and most of my memories are small town as well.

You know that place in your mind where you store those warm memories you call upon from time to time? I have one too. It is a place where those thoughts, reminders, and memories are kept safe and close, but not cramped. Perhaps you imagine that spot in your mind to be as comfortable as a cottage in the woods, as I’ve heard one friend describe it. A place where a warm fire burns above a hearth of stone, along with a pot of stew — seasoned liberally with heavenly herbs and spices, the fragrance soothingly wafting through the air. Cozy slippers and quilts await to fight off the cold fingers of life.

Maybe those thoughts are your hammock between two palms which wave in the breeze at the edge of a sandy beach, or maybe they are your mountain meadow with a cool rushing spring meandering through it. Perhaps they are very simply just what they are, warm memories. The point is, we hold on to those thoughts that give us comfort in troubled times or cause us to smile when they drift in between the cracks of reality. For me, there’s a lot of “small town” in those memories. I can call upon those memories which helped to shape my life, which give me courage to face the difficulties, and which ask me to pass on what I’ve experienced. They make their way into my writing and into my outlook.

As a young boy I was privileged to have a paper route. Though at the time it may have caused me to be just a bit of a target for harassment among a few peers, I’m proud of that. I’m happy my parents let me learn to work at a young age. Although I did use my bike from time to time to deliver papers (usually in the summer), most of the time my dad helped me by providing transportation and a toss out the driver’s side window which would make a southpaw swell with envy. Later on when I quit delivering papers, he kept it up. I guess he figured he was up early anyway.

The day began early, usually around five in the morning. We picked up our paper bundles, rolled and banded them, and delivered them before school. As long as the route truck was on time, we often ended by going up to the local cafe before I had to get home and ready for school.

One of those strong memories upon which I reflect was built by men who had no idea what they were building or that they were building anything at all. They did what men do, what their fathers taught them, and perhaps their grandfathers before. They treated each other with civility, respect, and a sense of community. A few of those men are still around, but their numbers have dwindled as life took its toll.

I’m talking really great men. No, not senators or famous people… not great because they made history… not men who shaped the world, but men who shaped my world. They were men you wanted to know. Men who had interesting stories, humor, integrity, faith, bumps, scars, flaws, faults, and fractures. They weren’t perfect, they were human, and they saw community as a way of life. Perhaps in today’s world they wouldn’t be valued at all. Someone would hone in on one of those faults, flaws, or scars and magnify it until it became the only thing anyone could see. But to me they were examples of people who might be a little rough around the edges and hiding a diamond in the center.

As I look back, I realize I how important it was to me and my education as a youth to spend those mornings at the cafe with my father and men like him. It was valuable to hear their conversations, see their actions, and watch the interaction between them. They instilled in me, without effort, the idea that it is okay to disagree, that you don’t have to sacrifice your principles to treat someone with respect, and that people of opposing views can still get along if they choose to get along.

The coffee-drinkers’ table was really about four or five tables butted together. It was placed close to the server’s station which made it easier to refill those cups. If the tables filled, another table was added or another row was started a few feet away. Of course, back then smoking was allowed, but usually the smokers sat at one end of the table, sharing an ashtray. Most of the men at the table were just drinking coffee, but some were filling up on a full breakfast order or a cinnamon roll before heading off to work.

There were caps of varying colors which had been provided by the booster club, the bank, tractor dealers, seed dealers, feed yards, and oilfield companies. Cowboy hats and the occasional stocking cap made their way into the mix. It was a time when some of those hats would still be taken off when they entered the building and hung on the hat-tree by the door or off the corner of a chair back, others remained firmly planted upon their owners heads adding a bit of color to a plaid, or denim background.

Flannel shirts, pearl snap western shirts, t-shirts, blue jeans and Dickies were the dress of choice. Cowboy boots, muck boots, steel-toed Red Wings, and rough looking wingtips could be found under those tables. Callouses, liver spots, grease stains, chapped skin, and arthritic joints shaped and decorated the hands which lifted those stoneware coffee cups. In many ways they reminded me of the friends and family, mostly coal miners, my grandfather sat around with in Kentucky.

While I drank a cup of coffee (which was heavily laced with cream and sugar back then), occasionally tea or a Coke, I listened to their conversations. Sometimes, I was invisible as the conversations took on more colorful verbiage, tone, and subject matter with the flow of the discussion; other times their words were probably tempered for my ears. There might be another kid or two there among them, especially during the summer. Later on I would frequently be joined by my brother, and though I’m sure others experience the same, I can remember many times when I was the only junior coffee drinker.

Those men argued about farming ideas, talked about the good and bad of the oilfield, and disagreed bitterly over politics. They discussed the fair price of wheat and the impact of trade embargoes. They traded jabs and played tricks. They described the quality of the cattle that ran through the last auction at the sale barn. They ribbed each other over who shot the bigger buck, the largest pheasant, or caught the biggest fish, and told stories about the ones that got away. To be sure there was ample amount of gossip and many a bawdy tale which sailed over my head. Some of those conversations could be filled with heated emotion, and sometimes those heated conversations carried over from one day to the next. They weren’t pushovers; when they had an opinion, they held to it like an old hound with a bone.

Yet, unlike the vicious attacks we see on Facebook and Twitter today — words meant not to voice disagreement, but to destroy their adversaries — these men never seemed to let their disagreements disintegrate into hate. They didn’t allow their discord to create walls or let those differences ride upon their shoulders. I’m sure beyond my young eyes there were ruffled feathers, but they weren’t pranced around like a peacock on display. Maybe someone left that building bent out of shape, but they still came back the next day and sat down with the same men at the same table. I’m sure there were feuds and bruised egos, but the community went on. The coffee table never emptied, or was boycotted, or struggled to attract members. They still seemed to treat each other with respect. They still came together when someone was in need, and they still reached into their pockets to pay for another man’s coffee or even a meal.

When it came time to pay up, it seemed like someone always spoke up with an, “I’ll get it.” They paid for each other’s coffee or even breakfast. They didn’t keep track of who owed who. I never saw them sit at the table and divvy up the ticket. They simply handed the waitress some money and paid for the whole table. Sometimes two or three of them would just place some bills in a pile to cover the group. There were always tips left by the empty cups; tips which were often considerably larger than the sixty cent cost of the coffee. Paying for a whole table probably never averaged more than fifteen or twenty dollars, but it was the thought that counts. The acts of courtesy, respect, and generosity.

Baptist, Methodist, Church of Christ, Christian church members, and non-believers debated the Bible, the government, the Ag prices, and whether the lousy referee at the high school basketball game should have been given a complimentary optometrist appointment or run out of town on a rail. Even after a Republican versus Democrat full assault battle, they laughed, shook hands, and slapped shoulders as they left the building. From there they went their different ways, to their different occupations, in their different cars and trucks. They waved as they passed each other on the road. And the next day, they did it all over again.

If your dad or grandfather, or uncle was at that table or another table in another little cafe, I salute you. You know the kind of people I’m talking about. You know that they knew how to make a community and take care of a neighbor. You know “small town” and you probably have some of that in you as well. It’s time we passed it on.

March 2, 2019March 2, 2019

Yeah, I’m on Twitter

10/2013

I say that almost reluctantly. I know it’s hip, cool, or whatever word is used these days, but it’s awkward. Twitter is great for those people who have things pop in their heads and they just like to spout it off, but I’m more of a pipe-smoker. I have to think about something before I say it and therefore a simple tweet becomes a struggle. I type it, think about it, erase it, type, think, erase… after going through this a few times, I just drop it.

Twitter has become a popular form of social media, particularly among young people. Just as the youthful crowd was the first to move from MySpace to Facebook, often with the goal of escaping the prying eyes and gathering of parents and grandparents, they have migrated to this form of social media where they can tweet off any thought which comes to mind. With a language of its own, Twitter can sometimes be daunting to new users.

I ventured to this place under the direction of John Locke, who was the first independent author to ever sell over one million downloads. Following his “How to” instructions, I set up a Twitter account to build a following and hoping, along with apparently hundreds of thousands of other independent authors, to find readers for my books.

After being on Twitter for more than two years, it just hasn’t panned out that way and I find myself visiting the Twitter-world less and less often. Admittedly, my lack of success with Twitter Marketing largely has to do with my failure to implement the strategies which were suggested and are followed by most of the independent authors who use it. With over sixteen-hundred followers (small beans compared to most tweeters), you would think there would be at least a few who might be tempted to buy my books, but the problem with marketing on Twitter is that you have to buy into the whole idea of self-promotion for it to work.

Another problem with Twitter is that it is easy to find and follow people just like you, but not always so easy to build a diversified base. So, I’ve fallen into this Twitter Abyss, where ninety percent of the people who follow me are the very authors in which I find myself in competition with for readership, which wouldn’t be bad if the only goal was to find people with whom I could relate or when building a support network. However, when the goal is to find readers or market your work, this isn’t exactly the type of following one might desire

My Twitter feed is full of “Buy My Book” tweets from other independent authors who are all there for the same reason. I get so inundated by these endless pleas and painful reminders I am just a small fish in a giant pond; it just doesn’t capture me. Don’t get me wrong, it can be entertaining from time to time, but I can’t spend hours on it or even drop what I’m doing to check the feed.

Call me a dreamer, call me naive, paint me old fashioned, or simply call me stupid, but I can’t buy into the endless, non-stop, ticker-type stream of self-promotion. I don’t want people to buy my book because I bothered them until they did. In this world of videos and news stories gone viral, I want to be known for writing something which creates such an emotional impact it develops a groundswell of grassroots support. Obviously, I haven’t achieved that, but I can still hope. I want success upon its own merits. If the work isn’t good enough to gather that kind of support, then it simply isn’t good enough.

I still believe in readers. I believe in ‘real’ readers, book lovers, who get so caught up in a story, or are so moved with passion, that they can’t help but tell others about the experience. People like me who talk about how a story impacted them or are blown away that the author was able to paint such vivid pictures in their mind or develop characters who actually come alive.

I know they are out there, waiting for just the right story. I read it in the reviews of books I like. The same stories which touch me touch them. So, how do I find them? The only way I know how. I keep striving to write that special story which captures their hearts and loosens their tongues in a way that they just can’t contain how they feel about it. It may take several tries. There may be six, eight, ten, twelve books or more published before I find the right one. I’m not afraid of being a one hit wonder. If I can write a book which gets talked about like To Kill A Mockingbird or Catcher In The Rye (which I actually never cared for), I’ll be happy. Sure, Harper Lee only wrote one book, but everyone knows that one title. J.D. Salinger may only be known for one book, written in 1951, but it still sells an average of 250,000 copies per year.

Hey, I don’t want to sound like Negative Nelly here. There are some great things about Twitter, Facebook, and any of those other social media platforms. I’ve reconnected with friends from high school and college. I’ve met some really wonderful people. I have developed what I consider to be close friendships with people I’ve never even met. I’ve come across interesting topics and conversation. Through those interactions, I’ve learned so much more than I would have on my own. I’ve been exposed to other independent authors and come to realize there is incredible talent out there. I can’t even remember the last time I bought a book from a mainstream author.

So, yeah, I’m on Twitter, and you are more than welcome to follow me (@celemieux), though rather than endless tweets about my books you are more likely to find quotes I like or humorous stabs at my kids. I slip in a reminder about my books once in a while, but it won’t be an endless feed of self-promotion. It may even be a little boring compared to what you can find on Twitter. But I’ll engage if you engage, and I’ll keep looking for those illusive readers. I’ll stick with my naive and old fashioned ideas about what makes a book popular. To me it starts with the work and ends with the reader. If the reader finds value, it will get their vote, and if they do not find value, it is time to try again.

By the way, “Buy My Book, There’s Something About Henry. It’s on Amazon.”

March 2, 2019March 2, 2019

From Our Family To Yours

07/22/2012

This began as a Facebook post. After I decided I had too much to say for that, it morphed into a blog article and after Julie asked me to write something for the paper, it was modified a little more. First, before I go any further, I have to say this, “If your gas grill is closer than three to five feet from your home, stop reading this and go move it. You don’t want that regret hanging over your head.”

Okay, where to start? That’s what I think when I look at what is left. It is also what I think when I begin to think of all the things for which we are thankful. A nearly one hundred year old landmark is gone, as is the home where so many of our memories took place, the only place our kids know as home. We’ve kind of moved around through temporary homes and we still have some more transitions to endure. My kids lost most of their treasures and mementos. I won’t deny that it is uncomfortable and humbling to be where we are right now. Yet, I can’t help feeling we are blessed beyond measure. We are well and safe and living among really terrific people.

We are not the first to lose a home to fire or to be faced with difficulty. There are so many people out there who have it much worse than we do today. There are people who have absolutely no insurance, no families, or live in communities where they feel they are among strangers. There are those who have lost loved ones and live through terrible tragedies. There are those who are called upon to find deep wells of courage, just to get through the obstacles which face them. We have much for which we can be thankful. We are fortunate the fire didn’t smolder until we had gone to bed and that we had neighbors who came to warn us, call it in, and help try to put it out. We are fortunate we have family and friends nearby. We are so blessed to be living where we do. Though our lives have been changed and are a little crazy right now, we are blessed and we know it.

Over the past few weeks there have been so many times when I’ve felt overwhelmed by the blessings of kindness which have fallen upon us, much like the coach at the end of Facing The Giants or George Bailey at the end of It’s A Wonderful Life. You…yes…You are the greatest people on the planet. From the Deputies, Firemen, and EMTs who had their hands full all day with a grass fire only to spend the evening trying to help us, to the friends and neighbors who have gone way beyond anyone’s expectations, to the prayer warriors who have come together for us from all over – “Thank you” will always seem to fall short of really explaining how much we appreciate you, but we’ll try. Each time one of You show up to offer more support, or to offer words of kindness, we are seized with emotion. On Sunday you overwhelmed us once again with your kindness.

There are so many of you, we simply can’t name all of you individually and we certainly wouldn’t want to leave anyone out. Some of you work behind the scenes, so we don’t even know all you have done, but rest assured we know you are there. Thank you for your generosity, for your kindness, your concern, your gifts, your words and deeds. Thank you for your dedication, your thoughts and your prayers. Most of all, thank you for being you – the caring, wonderful people you are. You’ve come together for so many others and I’m sure you will come together for many others in the future. That togetherness is one of the many things which seems to make living in this area so special. It may not be glamorous, but it is home.

To me our house had become a living thing; the place where my kids have grown; the place to which we moved when we were new parents; a place which has helped inspire my imagination; a place which was occupied before us by some very special people. So much history moved through those walls, both our history and Forgan’s. Though I’ve grumbled through replacing windows, walls, and the cost of heating and cooling it; it was still special enough to serve as a setting for three of my stories. It may not have been glamorous, but just like the area in which we live, it is home.

Last week I sat on the front porch and thought of all the things I’ll miss about that house. I’ll miss stepping out on the covered porch with my kids during a thunderstorm to watch the rain roll off the roof and feel it spray against me when the wind blows. I’ll miss the way the porch swing thumped, thumped, thumped as the wind blew it into the side of the house. I’ll miss the sound of my kids running down the stairs. I’ll miss its creaks and settling noises. I’ll miss the view going into the front door which inspired the first chapter of Whispers in the Wind.

We’ll have another home and it will have its own memories and characteristics, but it won’t be that one. It won’t have the same atmosphere or the worn in feeling of an old pair of jeans or a favorite t-shirt. It will be newer and probably have fewer problems. The walls and the trim won’t be scared and scuffed by the day to day life of a growing family. No, it won’t be the same, but over time it will take on a life of its own. Its walls will hear and remember the voices of a thousand conversations. It will break in like that new pair of jeans and become just as comfortable as the old ones. The walls and paint will become smudged with growing hands; there will be pieces of our lives left upon their surfaces. It will transform from a house to a home and a capsule of our lives together.

The past three weeks have been a whirlwind of activity. We’ve spent much of the time working from morning until late in the evening sorting and sifting. We’ve received help with that from our families and friends. We’re still working on inventorying the house. It’s a long process and I encourage you to at least take some pictures of your rooms to keep in the safe deposit box so you have something to reference for later. Most of our rooms downstairs, though smoke and water damaged, are intact and that has helped, but the upstairs is a different story. Also, get a fireproof-safe for your pictures or get them put on disc and keep them in your safe deposit box. We have been able to save a lot of pictures. We had one tub of photo albums which would have burned, but it was full of water. We had to pull the pictures apart and dry them, but they were saved.

We’ve received so many clothes, that we donated the ones which weren’t the right sizes. So you helped us and we passed on some of your help to others. We are in good shape on clothing. My parents dining room and Julie’s dad’s porch were filled with tubs of clothing until we moved into the temporary home. We’ve had offers of furniture and cooking items, but right now our biggest issue is having room to storing things. Our garage is filled with things we could salvage from the house, cabinets and furniture. Many of those items may have to go due to smoke or water damage, but we have to keep them until after the insurance company finishes its numbers. We can’t really start cleaning up the sight or tearing down the structure until they are done.

We received offers of places to stay and though most of them didn’t work out because of the size of our family, we appreciate your offers more than you can know. The insurance company decided to move in a mobile home for us to live in temporarily.

Our hope is to rebuild or move in a modular home. Though we’ve started looking at home plans and visited with some builders and modular home companies, we really can’t make any decisions until we see what we can afford. Our insurance basically pays for the parts of the home which were destroyed until it meets the maximum. Again, just a suggestion, but take a look at your homeowner’s policy and see what is covered. If you can afford it, make sure you have replacement coverage and not just a dollar amount.

We’ve gone back to work and are making adjustments to our normal. So to sum it all up, friends and neighbors, we will be okay. It will be awkward, uncomfortable, or difficult for a while. We may have to adjust to a different type of home or some place smaller than we were accustomed, but we’ll be fine. We may not have a place to call our own for a while as we figure out what steps to take, but we’ll be okay. God has blessed us to live in a great community and a great area. We have each other and our families. We’ll create more memories and gather more mementos. Someday things will seem normal again, but every day we can be thankful to live in an area where people have the kinds of hearts and souls which reach out to others; the kind of people who understand that there is sincerity in our words when we say, “Thank You.” Along with our thanks, know that you are in our prayers as well. We pray that the Lord will bless you for blessing us. May His kindness and generosity rain down upon you and your families. May He quench the thirst of your dry land and watch over you as you have watched over us.