I've noted often in the past that most of what I preach and practice when it comes to marketing and community-building, I learned during those four years of Mondays, and by the end of the night last Monday, I realized how big a hole I'd created when I walked away from that part of my life. So, I'm back.
Yesterday's announcement that O'Reilly is retiring TOC came as a bit of a surprise at first, but in retrospect, it makes sense. Its focus on tools was a strength in the early days of the digital transition, but as the new shiny wore off, self-proclaimed "disruptors" faded away quietly, and viable business models came to light, it became clear that the tools of change that counted most were the people in the trenches, not the provocative pundits with plenty of ideas and little or no skin in the game.
Perhaps it's just the drama this week offered -- from the tragic and inspiring events in Boston, to some big things starting to shake loose at the day job -- combining with the unexpected introduction to some good poems, but I'm getting that feeling again, a tentative spark that danced unusually bright in my brain throughout my run this morning. It wasn't a full-fledged poem, just the beginnings of one, words and ideas tap-dancing to a vaguely familiar rhythm, a lucid dream that lasted for a couple of miles before threatening to fade if I didn't write them down. So I did, cheating my cooldown and stretching to get to the computer as fast as I could.
The feeling of running across the finish line, whether it's a one-mile walk for charity or a local 10k, an Olympic sprint or the Boston Marathon, is supposed to be a special one. It's personal accomplishment mixed with exuberant community connection; an emotional high laced with varying degrees of physical exhaustion. It's not ever supposed to be a moment where death might lash out randomly. Where cowards make political statements. Where fear and suspicion take root.
"Wow..." That was my whispered, slack-jawed reaction to the final 30 minutes of BioShock Infinite, arguably the most compelling video game experience I've ever had. It's not a perfect game by any stretch of the definition, and since completing the game, I've thoroughly enjoyed reading some of the more measured reviews that haven't been afraid to point out its flaws, but to borrow a phrase from Grace Jones, it might not be perfect, but it's perfect for me.
Never mind the folly of dismissing Goodreads, a social network dedicated to books with 13m+ members and is steadily growing, or even Pinterest, where Random House has inexplicably attracted 1.5m followers, but the very idea that "something is really, chronically missing in online retail discovery" is arguably contradicted by Amazon's 2012 results, suggesting that "online retail discovery" isn't really a problem for readers. It's a problem for publishers.
There are a wide variety of video games out there, and yes, some are extremely violent. Same goes for movies, TV shows, and even good, old-fashioned books. If you don't want your kids playing these games (or consuming any other similar media), be a responsible parent and deal with it, but don't go playing the blame game every time some senselessly violent act occurs too close to home, crying for government regulation.