I’ve been writing on the Internet for more than two decades, and anyone who ventures forth and opens him or herself up to the World Wide Web needs to manage the psychologically reality of these new kinds of communications. As E.B. White wrote from his farm in Maine (before there was the Internet), his readers needed to understand that “There are are 10,000 of you and one of me.” I think I’ve upped his numbers. People send good wishes,  biscuits, cookies, flowers, advice, photos of their kids and grandkids, their dogs, cats and donkeys,  links to other websites, jokes and funny things they have heard,  stories about their lives and animals, detailed critiques of my writings, awful jokes, cute photos of strange dogs, heartfelt stories about their ailing spouses, parents, and of course dogs. They ask about Rose or Clementine or Homer or Elvis, and if Izzy isn’t seen, some people get worried. I find it strange that I could discuss each animal in my life each day with thousands of strangers on the Internet, but the people writing don’t know that. They are just curious about the characters I’ve created.

I am asked about my camera equipment, hay choices, food and feed, vets, brushes and feed. I don’t mind this, and it is understandable, but I have to deal with it in a rational way.

I read those messages that I can.  I like communicating with my readers and bloggers. It’s good for me as well as them. But tricky.

I’ve also found the Net poses some interesting questions, the most central being to identity. One has to have an idea about identity, I think, to  handle it. I do not, for example, ever debate the things I write. I do not answer hostile, pompous, or intrusive e-mail. One person was furious because I wouldn’t discuss my lenses with her. Another was disturbed that I refer to Maria as “my former girlfriend” and wished to have a personal dialogue with me about my fears and wife .(Not going to happen. We have all learned this is not appropriate.) A trucker was upset because I urged him not to want my life or dream my dream, as he said he did, but get his own. It never works to covet somebody else’s life, never.   A writer was angry with me because I wouldn’t help him get an agent or sell his books. People ask me for free training advice all of the time, as if I were a trainer, or could analyze their dogs over the Internet. And get angry when I decline. “I guess you don’t care about my dog,” huffed one. I don’t, not really.

My philosophy has evolved. My blog is a monologue, not a dialogue. My life is not a debate. Facebook is somewhat different. People can post their comments there, and I drop by when I can. I think most trouble comes from people telling me who I am. I’m afraid. Or I am not a farmer. Or in need of a senior discount. Or old. Or young at heart. Or a heartless killer who put his border collie down without even trying to help him out. Or a saint for taking in a neglected donkey.

And there are wonderful, generous, supportive and useful comments, those that lift me up, inspire me, love and praise my work,  challenge me and inform me. It is all part of the mix. If you don’t want to hear it, don’t put yourself out there or don’t have a blog. The Internet has helped me greatly as a writer, to communicate with my readers, digest valuable feedback, sell my work. I am grateful for it. But it requires some psychological management, as it can be a challenging and intrusive place.

But the part I will always keep – I have come slowly and comfortably to this – is my identity. Nobody tells me what I am or who I am. I don’t argue my life, I live it. Energy is precious, and I don’t want to waste mine communicating with people who can’t listen or hear. And I don’t discuss my personal emotions or life with strangers on the Internet. (I would not make a good congressman).  This is where I have evolved. I share my life, and am as open about it as I can. I love feedback and absorb  as much of it as I can. But my identity is not on the line, not debatable. I get to say who I am. And I wish my blog to be a light unto the world, not yet another place of hostility, self-righteousness and the callous cruelty that grows online like Dandelions.

My blog is growing, and thanks for that. And people who don’t like what I say can get a refund and go someplace else. It’s my comfortable place on the Internet,  a reason I love my blog, and love writing in this medium.