Joe Essid directs the Writing Center at the University of Richmond, where he teaches courses in writing and literature. He is a Richmond native who attended the University of Virginia and earned a Master's and PhD at Indiana University. His research interests include technology in the classroom and Southern literary humor. His academic writing has appeared in Computers and Humanities, The Writing Lab Newsletter, and anthologies about technology and writing. He is a contributor to Style Weekly and has appeared in Eighty One and RVA. Ignatius Onomatopoeia is the "avatar" who represents Joe in the game-world Second Life. Ignatius will be wandering the virtual terrain of Second Life while his creator writes here about what may be either "the next big thing" for the Internet or the latest darling of the cyber-hip... the reader can decide.
E-mail contact: jessid@mac.com | Web address: writing2.richmond.edu/jessid

Location: Info Island

I arrived in time to see the large memorial being dismantled, reverently, by librarians and other volunteers.  Candles and items left by players will be returned.

But the sympathy for the victims and their families continues.  I spotted this poem:

How sad it is that I shall no longer feel your touch.
No longer will I feel the warmth of your hugs.
You are my reminder that life should never be taken for granted.
You are my reminder that above all else life should be cherished.
Your love will always be eternal.
For, until I depart, I will always remember.
April 2007

Librarians on the island put me in touch with Milosun Czervik, who writes about the memorials and fund-raising drives in SL.  Milosun has organized a charitable group so we can donate our extra pocket money in-world to do some good. Players should contact Milosun via Second Life’s instant messaging or visit Milosun’s blog to find out how to donate their time and money to benefit the VA Tech community.

An odd feeling overcame me as Ignatius stood by the memorial; Info Island is one of my favorite places, because it offers the sort of clever educational experiences that other online games do not encourage.  I cannot imaging competition-based gaming, for instance, encouraging players to make a banned-books exhibit.

I’ve come to regard the island as a real place; I know its geography quite well. Now the island has another layer of meaning for me.  As much as I enjoy madcap adventures in SL, my hope is that parts of SL’s unreal landscape, over time, will become meaningful in the same way that real-life places do.

If so, it will partly come from people sharing stories—even sad ones—in those spots.