A friend of mine wrote me last night: “The mind boggles, and when I’m at a loss my new instinct is to make internets.”

I’m right there with him. Making internets is like good-for-you brain candy.  You can siphon off mental stress, you can let ideas gestate until they come together into something more fully formed, and you can feel at least somewhat productive in the process.

The other thing you can do with internets is avoid actual interactions with humans.  I’m a big fan of this. Huge. I’m a misanthrope to the nth degree.

But that’s not really a good way to be when one is trying to make one’s way in a new world, so I have opted to kick my ass outside my comfort zone.  I have coughed up the requisite cash and in two weeks you will be able to find me  losing my writing conference maidenhead in the garden spot of Allentown, Pa.  I’ve got a bunch of seminars I plan to attend, and I’ve got a bunch of questions I can ask and a bunch of gripes I can air, although I imagine I won’t be doing much of that — because, hi, nobody likes the new girl to be all whiny and caustic.

I’ve also got an audience with an agent, and a pitch kinda-sorta-not-really memorized.  I’m also all prepared to ditch the pitch and ask her a zillion questions about the other things I’m working on, including some new internets that I might be ready to share with everyone in a month.

That’s the nice thing about new internets, isn’t it? It’s a little like having a baby but without the obligation and expense.  At the beginning, the sky’s the limit. They could be ANYTHING when they grow up.  After a while, they still bring joy, but it’s a lot more work and some of those hopes and dreams inevitably fade.

I only hope that one of these days, one of these damn kids will make good and support me in my dotage.