Is technology driving us apart – or closer together?

Published May 10, 2012 Creative Life , Creative Parenting , Creativity Coaching , Essays , Marketing , Social Commentary Leave a Comment
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I recently attended The Art of Marketing conference in Chicago featuring Seth Godin and the question was posed to the audience: how many of you feel like technology is isolating us as a society? I did not raise my hand. I looked around and was shocked to see the majority of hands up. Now, I’ve seen this question posed in forums like TED, NPR and other thoughtful, intellectual places. But I hadn’t really formed an opinion. Until now.

I think technology is driving the need for people to come together more urgently than ever before. Children are on Facebook and Twitter doing what one expert described as “self revealing before self reflecting.” Technology changes are eliminating some jobs yet creating new ones. Our economy has been turned inside out and upside down. The business climate changes faster than Chicago weather in two hours. The changes driven by technology are happening so fast, we don’t have time to process it, let alone buy the next generation device.

As a marketing professional, I’m excited. So many new opportunities! So many new ways to communicate and share! So many new things to learn and master! As a wife, mother and regular person who regularly forgets to water her plants, yells at my kids when they get on my last remaining nerve, and can never seem to remember where I last placed my coffee or my glasses, it terrifies me.

That’s why I feel the basics of connection are more important than ever before. Saying good morning, please and thank you. Taking time before a meeting for personal chat before diving into the project at hand. Making time to meet for coffee. Asking someone, “How are you?” and meaning it – then listening thoughtfully to the answer. Picking up the phone and calling instead of emailing or texting (once in a while, anyway – I’m not really a phone talker). Sitting down for dinner with the kids with the TV off, cell phones/iPads/iPods/laptops put away, and taking turns asking how everyone’s day was. We ask questions and listen to the answers: what’s something good that happened? Bad? Sad? What is something new you learned today? What surprised you?

One of my proudest moments as a parent was when my then 11-year-old son came home from school and said he had good news to share. “What is it?” I asked excitedly. He smiled secretively and said, “I’ll save it to share at dinner.” This from a kid who believes MineCraft is a metaphor for life. :)

I think that technology is a reminder that as much as things change – or no matter how fast – we can get through it if we stick together. And remember that no technology can ever replace the basic need we all have: to connect. To share. To belong. To know our place in the big, bad, technologically savvy world. And to know that at the end of any day, someone will be sitting at the table waiting to hear about your day.

Back to the Art of Marketing conference, the first speaker: Keith Ferrazzi, best-selling author and thought leader, who spoke about relationship marketing. Technology might enable relationships. But people sustain them.

What do you think? Is technology driving us apart or driving us closer together?

Why are girls so mean?!

Published April 19, 2012 Creative Families , Creative Life , Creativity Coaching , Essays , Kids , Social Commentary 3 Comments
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Tonight I comforted my 1o-year-old daughter – again – about her break-up with her best friend. It wasn’t her idea. So while she is struggling to understand why her best friend no longer wants to be her best friend, her former best friend has moved on and is doing just fine with her new best friend. And it is getting uglier every day. I hug her as she sobs and describes in painstaking detail about the latest transgression with the ‘new best friend.’ And I feel completely, utterly at a loss to explain to her what is happening and why.

My daughter is on the far right. This is not the best friend she broke up with. It is someone she met once, one hour earlier...at an age before girls start turning on each other.

How do you explain to her that girls – all people – can be mean? Really really mean? That they don’t care that you go home at night and cry your heart out after holding in your feelings all day long? I’m not a psychologist. I’m just a mom. I’ve seen the movie “Mean Girls” and heard about the book “Queen Bees and Wannabees.” But sitting there on my daughter’s bed, seeing her lip quivering as she tried to hold back the tears, I could remember nothing from either the movie or the book in that moment.

It used to be so easy when she was younger. There was some drama, but now in fourth grade, it seems to have reached a new level. My first reaction is to comfort her and tell her I’m sorry she is having to go through this. I hug her. I listen to the stories. I empathize. I rack my brain to come up with something, anything, to tell her that will help. But I can’t fix it. I’m no expert on behavior. All I can do is tell her what I know to be true.

1. You don’t need 527 friends. Just one or two real ones. This is a tough one to explain when you are not the popular girl. My daughter has already been bullied in school and via text, though. She knows what it’s like every day to not be the popular girl – and what it’s like when the popular girl suddenly drops you. It’s a bitter, painful lesson and I hate to see her learn it. But I know she must. It’s part of growing up, made so much more complicated in our 24/7, always-on world full of technological ways to be bullied and reminded that you are on the outside looking in.

2. Own your part. I remind my girl of how she behaved badly at times when she was the best friend of the popular girl. She cries a little more, but I don’t let up on her. I remind her that others felt then just as badly as she feels now. Remember this, I tell her. Now that you know how it feels, you must be sure that you never, ever make anyone else feel the way you do right now. She nods. I know that I will need to remind her of this again. But I can see the seed is planted.

3. Be yourself. It’s hard to explain to a child that in a world where conformity is the norm, that it’s best to be your true self. When you do, you will make friends who see you for who you truly are and appreciate and love you for who you really are – warts, goofy humor, big feet and all. It may not happen tomorrow. It may not make you the most popular girl in school now. But you will have better, deeper friendships. You will be happier with who you are because you are not looking for someone else’s stamp of approval. You are the only one who give yourself that.

But my daughter is still learning who she is. She knows, but I think in weak moments like this, she forgets. So I remind her. I tell my daughter all that I know to be true about her: she is smart, creative, artistic, musical, funny, and sweet. I tell her she is an original and has a spark that lights her up inside. She listens to this very carefully. She desperately needs to hear this, to have herself mirrored back to her because right now she has lost sight of who she is. And at 10, she doesn’t know yet who she is, and the road before her to figure that out is long and hard. I want to make sure I give her the right tools for the journey.

4. You can’t control others, only how you react to them. I have to remind myself of this all the time, I tell her. You can drive yourself crazy trying to make someone like you or wishing they would change or treat you better or that things would go back to the way they were. But it is a waste of energy because you can’t change someone else. Never. Ever. So focus on what you can control and change: yourself.

5. Your feelings are perfectly normal. But it’s what you do with them that matters. I pull out the book I am reading, Emotional Intelligence 2.0, and show her a picture of the brain that shows how feelings enter the limbic part of the brain first, where emotions are experienced. The picture shows that beyond that part of the brain is the rational center of the brain. Some people get stuck in the emotional part of the brain and don’t connect to the rational part, so that they can understand and analyze the feelings to try to make sense of them. Not all kids are into this kind of thing, but my daughter loves to see the science and order behind the chaos. She asks to see the book and studies the picture. And you know what? It calmed her. It made sense to her. She needed that because feelings don’t always make sense and they can be big and scary.

In the end, I turn to my words because as a writer, it is all I have. I ask my daughter: what is the center of the universe? And she says, the sun. And I ask her: who is the sun of your universe? She looks down at her stuffed bear. I tell her that right now, she is making her ex-friend the center of her universe. I tell her that she needs to be the center of her own universe. She looks up at me, hopeful, and I can see that she gets it.

I don’t tell her that someday she may have a child who will become the new center of her universe. There is time for that later. For now, tonight, she needs to know that making anyone else the center of your universe – whether it’s a best friend, a spouse, the popular girl in school – will throw your entire universe off balance. And you will cry yourself to sleep every night.

Be the center of your own universe, I tell my daughter. You are smart. You are funny. You are sweet. You are musical and artistic. You are an original. You are creative. You are loving. You are loved.

I only hope my words did not fail me tonight.

What’s so great about being in your 40′s

Published December 1, 2011 Creative Life , Essays , Social Commentary Leave a Comment
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I was talking with a good friend (are there any other kind?) the other day, and we were discussing work and the various challenges we were facing. And he said, “You’re in your 40′s, you’re supposed to be challenged.” I laughed, but later, that comment stuck with me. Most of the articles I read about being in your 40′s are related to the crappy stuff: what you can’t wear anymore, things you can’t do anymore because you’re of  ’a certain age’ now, exercising for your age, blah blah blah.

How come no one talks about the good stuff that can happen once you cross over to the land of 40? Here are five positive things I’ve noticed kicked in this decade:

1. Lower bullshit tolerance. I’ve found that the older I get, the less bullshit I am willing to tolerate. Toxic people, bad behavior, activities I participated in for other people not myself…I don’t have time or patience for it anymore. Maybe it’s because you realize in your 40′s that half your life is behind you and you never know how much more is in front of you, so why waste it on people or things you don’t like?

2. Higher empathy quotient. I’ve always been an overachiever, and in expecting a lot from myself, I think I expected too much from others, too. Maybe it’s because I’m a mom and I see how this approach doesn’t work with kids. Maybe it’s because I have a child who has ADHD and I see him struggle to overcome his challenges. Maybe it’s watching my dad struggle a little more as he approaches 80 years old. Whatever it is, I’ve learned to slow down, listen when people talk and try to hear between the lines, and try to understand where they’re coming from. We’re all doing the best we can.

3. More patience. While my bullshit tolerance has gone down, I think I have gained a little more patience. I’ve never been good at that, but between juggling work, kids, and life, you drop a few balls sometimes…so you have to learn to roll with the punches. I’ve forgotten picture day at school, shown up at meetings with Cheerios in my hair (from the babies, not me!), and once went to an event with a lollipop stuck to the back of my skirt (thanks kids for leaving that on my front seat for me!) It makes me much more understanding when things don’t go as planned.

4. More inward focus, less outward. I don’t know about you, but the older I get, the more I find myself seeking out things that will make me more balanced on the inside. Finding more meaning in my creative work, forging deeper connections with people I care about, letting go of the past so I can see what’s in front of me…all of these things matter more to me today than they ever did before.

5. More incentive to stay strong. Let’s face it, after 40+ years on the planet, you’ve experienced everything from the death of loved ones to job loss to money woes, illness, kid drama and everything in between. It can make you feel 100 years old — if you let it. And it’s hard to watch older relatives struggle with illness and age-related issues. If you’ve ever seen what cancer or Alzheimer’s can do to someone you love, you know what I mean. It inspires me to eat healthier, work out more and try to take better care of myself so that I can stay strong for the long haul.

So maybe I am wearing all the wrong things for my age, but I’m still learning, I’m still challenging myself, and I’m doing the best I can. What do you say? What’s great about your 40′s? Or was there another decade that was even better for you?

7 comebacks for why you are not writing or finishing your book that just might trigger you to start writing again

Published May 23, 2011 Creative Life , Creative Writing , Fun , Work Life 1 Comment
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Let’s say you are a writer and that, at some point, you have told your friends or family that you wanted to or were writing a book. Chances are pretty good that someone at some point has asked you how said book is going, if you are still writing, are you published, or another variation on, “Well, when the hell are you going to finish that thing already?!”

Now, we all assume that these kind-hearted souls are trying to be supportive. But let’s say that the moment they ask you this, your writing or otherwise so-called creative life is as off track as your exercise life, and you feel like you’ve been caught by your Weight Watchers sponsor on the couch with a box of doughnuts in one hand and a super size DQ Blizzard in the other while watching Biggest Loser.  

I feel your pain.

Now pass me a Long John because I have good news. Since I am very busy not writing my book right this minute, I have concocted 7 snappy little comebacks you can whip out when people ask you if you are writing, finishing or publishing your book. And the best part is, most of them are actually writerly exercises in disguise, which may or may not prompt you to start writing again.

So the next time anyone asks why you are not writing or finishing your book, you will respond:

I am not writing or finishing my book because…

1. “I have never recovered from…” You can either finish this statement with a fictional disaster–being raised by a wild pack of roosters–or simply shake your head and wave the person away for it is simply too awful to contemplate let alone speak of it. Every time someone asks you why you haven’t finished your project, it implies that there is something wrong with you. No one likes failed expectations. So give the people what they really want: a chance to speculate on what is wrong with you. Is it a disease? Is there a cheating spouse? Is this a manifestation of something terrible that happened in childhood? (Cue the roosters.) This can lead to juicy gossip and if you’re lucky, even better fiction than you could have dreamed up alone on the couch slurping your DQ Blizzard.

2. “I’m swamped at the alpaca farm!” Sometimes, you have to lie to get people off your back. And that’s OK, because we’re writers, we make sh*t up all the time. Consider it writing practice! It’s good for you to flex your tall tale muscles as often as possible. Just make sure it’s a VERY tall tale, because if you start mumbling about being busy with work and the kids and laundry blah blah blah, people will hassle you because you have disappointed them (see failed expectations in comeback #1). If you’re a writer, you had better have a damn good excuse for not writing. So you need a distraction. You need to lie.

If you’re very good at it, they will forget about the book and become fascinated with your new life on the alpaca farm. And you just might have a new story on your hands.

3. “I can’t live without the anticipation.” You can follow this up by stating that unlike the rest of the world, you rather enjoy waiting–at the doctor’s office, at the vet, in line at the bank, and especially at  Six Flags Great America and Disneyland. On Christmas morning, you are the last one to open your gifts. Sometimes you even wait until the next Christmas to open them. Waiting is the best part and you’ve got nothin’ but time. You are one big Heinz Ketchup bottle of Anticipation, baby. Bring it!

4. “I’m afraid success may change me.” Everyone already knows what it feels like to fail–personally, I have the editors’ rejection letters to prove it. But if you write a Harry Potter or Twilight and knock it out of the park, there is a 50/50 chance you might become one of those doomed “The Lottery Changed My Life” people and end up drinking yourself to death in a motel room in Vegas, broke and alone, while the few people who actually remember you say, “Wow, if only she hadn’t hit success with that big fat book, she might still be here today, giving us gambling money.”

Hopefully by the time you explain this, people will have moved on to the slot machine and you and your failed expectations will be long forgotten. If not, see “You need a distraction” in #3. I recommend yelling, “Tequila shots for everyone? Wow, thanks <insert friend’s name here>.” (Be sure to invite me if you’re going to use that one.)

5. ”I am currently extrapolating the dilemma of good vs. evil in a postmodern yet dialectic society that is analogous to Planet of the Apes.” You will probably only have to add one more nonsensical sentence before the audience’s eyes glaze over. All they will remember is the last thing you said, Planet of the Apes, and this is good because it acts as a transitional element for them to change the conversation to anything other than your writing.

This will be good practice for you if you have not done a reading in front of a live audience. It’s important to know exactly where in your writing people tuned out. WARNING: This is probably the best way to ensure that someone NEVER asks you about your book or your writing again, so use it wisely.

6. “But sweetie, writing takes me away from you for far too long!” Add a sweet smile at the end and you might just get lucky. But if you don’t, or you’re just pissed off and sick of people asking you about your damn writing, go with #7:

7. “My book is about you.” Immediately let out a forlorn sigh and stare off in the distance as if you are struggling with a mighty dilemma. At that point, the other person will either A. slap you, B. call a lawyer, C. cry, D. slap you again, or E. all of the above. Which means–you guessed it–you need a distraction. See “tequila shots” in #4.

And that’s it my friends, seven snappy, snarky little comebacks you can whip out at a moment’s notice when you are caught red-handed, not writing. Perhaps you have been inspired by all of these exciting potential confrontations. If so, get back to your chair and start writing again. If not, I say go for the tequila. There’s always a good story after tequila. :)

Celebrating Mother’s Day when Mom’s not there

Published May 6, 2011 Creative Families , Creative Life , Essays , Holidays 2 Comments
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We all know what moms are supposed to be: patient, kind and loving. They are supposed to know how to sing lullabies and kiss boo-boo’s. They are supposed to cook and clean and decorate cupcakes like it’s nobody’s business. They are supposed to work hard at home and at work and be good friends, good daughters, good sisters and aunts. But most importantly?

They are supposed to be there.

Moms should be there when it counts: at our sporting events and school plays. For our first kiss, first job, first marriage. Moms should be there when you become a mom and join the ‘hood. They should be there for every baby thereafter. Moms should be there forever.

But what happens when they’re not? What do you do when they leave or get sick or die? What do you do when they are there but disconnected, in a “lights are on but nobody’s there” way? What do you do when they are there but you wish they weren’t? And then Mother’s Day comes along, with its high expectations for a Norman Rockwell (or should I say Normal Rockwell) day?

My mom died on March 18, 1994. It was six months before my wedding. By the time her cancer was diagnosed, it was too late, but we didn’t know it then, my sister, father and I. We didn’t have Google or WebMD then; hope was all we had. But that was a long time ago, right? I’m done with that, right? With two kids of my own now, Mother’s Day should be a snap. Right??

But what I am learning is that when there are all these things a mom is supposed to be, you are never “done” coming to terms with the loss of a parent. Your grief merely changes shape over time. My mom and I did not always see eye to eye. She died before I really came into my own as a person, so I like to think that we would have become friends. But I’ll never really know.

I am (mostly) OK with this. I don’t cry anymore on Mother’s Day. I don’t choke up anymore when I see a mother and daughter walking in the mall who look so alike there is no doubt they are mother/daughter. But  seeing my older sister being a grandparent to her grandchildren, I feel the sadness and loss of what my children will never experience. When my elderly neighbors invite their adult children and the grandchildren over for Sunday dinner, there is something about the sight of the grey-haired couple standing on their porch stoop, waving goodbye as everyone backs out of the driveway…it’s the sting of what will never be.

I know what a mom is supposed to be. But here’s what my mom really was: she insisted on family dinners every Sunday. She wore her hair in a beehive long after it ceased being fashionable (it was once, right?). She never got her hair wet in the pool and she could sew a pantsuit like it was nobody’s business. She made the best homemade chicken noodle soup. She loved McDonald’s but maybe Long John Silver’s a little more. She read People magazine and The Star and Enquirer. She loved Elizabeth Taylor. She told me I could go to college someday, even though no one else in our family, herself included, had ever gone.

When she died, I didn’t know how to be a wife or mother. She was a buffer between being a kid and a grown-up and when she died, it was like the earth cracked open and I lost everything, myself included. But here’s the thing: I got stronger, too.

I learned how to decorate a house and order window treatments. I never learned how to sew but I did learn that a tailor and a dry cleaner work even better. I learned how to cook for 20 and make pie crusts from scratch. I learned that life is short and tomorrow doesn’t always come, so I finished my grad school application and got that MFA I’d been thinking about. I learned that if I wanted something, I was going to have to get it for myself. And while I missed Mom’s stamp of approval on my life, there is something liberating about charting your own course, free of someone else’s idea of what it should look like. My life felt more real because I had more at stake and no one to blame but me if I failed.

I remember after one particularly bitter fight when I was about 12, my mom gave me a long look and said, “You’re going to write about this some day, aren’t you?” I gave her my best eye roll and a snotty ‘tween look, but deep down, we both knew she was right. Dammit.

Miss you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.

What your email signature says about you

Published April 18, 2011 Fun , Marketing 8 Comments
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As a writer, I notice little things. As a marketer, I notice little things, too. One of the biggest little things I am actually paid to notice is your email signature–the way you sign your emails as well as the block of information that may or may not be included after it. People like me are sometimes referred to, semi-jokingly, as the “brand police” who send fellow employees notes about how their email signature is “not in compliance” with the corporate standard, i.e., no Dilbert cartoons on email sigs, buddy!

You can tell a lot by how someone signs their email. Here are four of the most common signatures I come across, see if any of these sound familiar:

1. The Initialer. You only sign emails with initials: first initial only, first and last initial only, or the first, middle and last initial. My favorite letter is a little “e,” it always makes me laugh. I have also seen a double EE, which makes me think of the word “EEK!” I would like to change my name to Quinn or Quest so I can sign my emails “Q” which is infinitely more interesting that “c.” My cousin Barb S., a professional clown, can sign her emails BS. That’s fine for clowns, but certainly not the rest of us.

This is like being Keisha, Cher and Madonna–you are so popular and famous, you don’t need a full name. That’s for boring, average people. Do you think Lady GaGa signs her emails LGG or LG? Or just “ga” ? Maybe she’s “The Ga,” like The Godfather. Oh, who are we kidding, she doesn’t email, that’s for average worker bees like us. :)

2. The Tagliner. You feel compelled to include a phrase, quote or other message after your signature. Often, employed folks come up with their own snappy taglines–which makes the marketing folks roll their cynical marketing eyes and bemoan to the marketing gods, WHY?? Why do they try to write their own taglines when we have a perfectly acceptable brand tagline that we spent 700 hours and 97 rounds of review on?

The most annoying of all? The uber-positive tagline. “Have a super-duper positive absolutely best day of your life, Mr. Sunshiney Face!” Often accompanied by an emoticon smiley face. *sigh* These days, emails are mostly a big fat to-do: something you should do, something you need to do, something you will never do, or something you don’t want to do but will probably do at some point when someone sends you enough emails telling you to do it. So please, don’t tell me to be happy about it, OK?

3. The Lonely Signature. You either don’t sign your emails or you sign it with your name only–no quotes, no taglines, no info. Who are you hiding from? And why are you not taking advantage of this fabulous opportunity to tell us who you are? Oh, right, you’re a “private” person. Sorry, we missed that Facebook status update. And the tweet. And your foursquare location update. Our bad!

4. The jpeg-inator. You simply must have a .jpeg or .png photo in your email signature, despite all advice to the contrary. It could be your cat, your favorite beetle, a logo, or maybe even your entire block of Follow Us icons. So every time you send an email, the code behind those links breaks apart, resulting in this messy business:

We also see six attachments on your email, five of which are pictures while the sixth is the Very Important File you wanted us to review immediately, which we didn’t see on account of it’s buried amid five other attachments.

So go ahead. Tell us about your favorite email signature.

Sincerely, your friend in all things bloggy and brand-y and super duper fun,
c

postscript: exactly eight days after this post, my son–relatively new to cell phones and texting–sent me a text and signed it for the first time. With his first, middle and last initial. For the record, he does not read my blog.

How to stop hating someone who is more successful than you?

Published April 4, 2011 Copywriting , Creative Life , Creative Writing , Work Life 6 Comments
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So last weekend I’m at the bookstore–remember those? so quaint! so old-fashioned!–checking out the Best American Essays and short story collections when I see it: a black soft cover book with cool illustrations in embossed ink on the cover. The kind you just don’t see anymore on books (or maybe you do only it doesn’t look as cool on an iPad or Kindle or the Nookie, as my technology virgin sister calls the Nook).

I picked up the book. Cool illustrations, cool title. And then I see the author’s name and I think: A**HOLE!!

I know. Hardly my proudest moment. But it’s the first thing that popped into my head, unprompted, unwanted, unexpected. No, he wasn’t an ex-lover who did me wrong. It’s much, much worse. We were in graduate school together, he’s younger than me, he’s had three books published and is a professor of fiction. He’s everything I thought I wanted to be when I grew up. Every. Single. Damn. Thing.

Jerk.

Three books! All with similarly cool titles! The kind I wish I’d thought of! And quirky, deep characters! With interesting plot lines that peel back life layer by layer! And best of all, prose that I admire, with sentences and descriptions I read twice or more just because they were THAT good!

*sigh*

He has glowing recommendations from the New York Book Review, the New York Times, blah blah blah. And he deserves every single bit of praise. So why do I hate him? Where is all this hostility coming from, anyway?

Wasn’t I the one who, just two weeks ago, responded to someone who asked if I still wrote fiction ‘on the side’ that “my day job writing is enough for me?” Wasn’t it moi who told a friend I was OK with not picking up where I left off on my last book because I feel like I’ve said everything I wanted to say??

I don’t really hate this guy, but for the sake of my sanity and for fun, let’s call him BoBo. I actually like BoBo. He was very nice in the classes we had together; he accepted praise for his work with humility; to pay for school, he worked a couple of menial, low-paying jobs that gave him time to write. BoBo was smart, funny, and wicked with words on the page even back then. Everyone liked him. Even me.

I don’t regret him an ounce of his success. (Mostly.) It’s just funny, because every time I think I’ve finally gotten to the point in my life where it’s OK if I’m not writing, BoBo pops up with an interview in the literary section of the Chicago Tribune, or at an alumni reading, or on the damn bookshelf in my local bookstore, or winning yet another literary contest, reminding me of something I left behind that maybe–just maybe–I’m not ready to leave yet.

Damn you, Bobo.

Years ago, I remember asking an older copywriter (40-something, ha ha! I thought that was so old when I was 23) that I worked with whether she still wrote fiction or poetry. She said, “Nah. I finally gave myself permission to let that go, and I’ve been much happier ever since.” As I get “older,” I come back to her answer now and again, thinking–is this the year I can cut myself some slack? Is this the year I’ll be able to let go of what feels like an outdated dream so I can move on to something else or just be happy with where I am?

And then I see another book or interview with BoBo and I want to rip his eyes out all over again. This can’t be healthy. After I calm down, I realize, wait, maybe I do want to go back to that book project. Maybe there was something to that short story I abandoned like last night’s leftovers. Maybe there is still hope for me to write more of my own words and less of someone else’s. Maybe I can see BoBo and congratulate him on his hard-earned success instead of bemoaning my unfinished business.

It’s different too because, at 42, I’m halfway through my life (if I’m lucky and don’t get hit by a bus tomorrow, in which case, this would be  a crappy last blog post, I would prefer to go out on a high note not some rambling bitch fest). If I want this to happen, I need to get on it already. Or let it go gracefully.

Am I the only one who feels this way? I can’t be. There are millions of people out in the world–that’s a lot of unfulfilled, unrealized dreams haunting the universe. Sure, OK, we all make choices. I remember the moment in my sophomore year in college when I switched majors from creative writing to professional writing, thinking–I want to be able to support myself and never have to rely on anyone else ever again. And I like to eat, so I better do something where I can actually get paid. Fortunately, I realized this dream–being able to support my family with my words in today’s unpredictable business landscape feels less like a dream and more like a gift. But it was my choice. And it was a good one, for me and for my family.

So I’ve decided that starting today, I’m going to try to stop beating myself up, redirect my anger, stop hating on BoBo, and revisit my personal writing projects. I’m also going to read BoBo’s latest book and see what that crafty little devil is up to now that will inspire me. And maybe secretly I hope that every time I loosen my grip on my dream, BoBo will pop up again, reminding me of what’s important and why it matters that I pay attention when I get so damn pissed off about something. Reminding me that maybe I have something left to say after all. Or at the very least, that I can someday see his name on a book cover and think, “Way to go, BoBo!” and not, ”Again?? You bastard!”

Post script: As I checked out, the clerk looked over the cover of the book and said, “Interesting.” I said, “Definitely. I went to school with that guy. He’s really good.” Would have never happened if I’d just downloaded it on my Nookie.

When you trust your words to an editor

Published March 1, 2011 Copywriting , Creative Life , Work Life Leave a Comment
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Tonight as I sat editing an article for a senior VP in another country, I thought–what a leap of faith. I had met this executive briefly once, many months ago. She was now trusting her words and ideas to me, a complete stranger other than the testimonials she’d heard from others about my work.

We all need to have our work reviewed by others at some point. I have to do it all the time. As a writer, my work is often reviewed by layers of people: other editors, sales people, senior leaders, rounds of nameless, faceless business units, marketing directors, legal teams, objective third parties, you name it.

But the review that’s toughest? When I am reading from my own fiction in front of an audience. It is nerve-wracking. I always start off talking too fast. Sometimes I hyperventilate (although I’ve never passed out, I’ve come close). Somewhere along the way, usually around paragraph 2, I find my rhythm. I speak slower, closer to the truth of the characters and the heart of the story. I finish strong.

But getting there–getting to the writing that is clear, strong, and just plain working–is a process. It’s a leap of faith that everyone who is reviewing it for you or with you is adding something that will help you get where you need to go. It requires trust and hope and a willingness to embrace revision for what it is: necessary, vital and good.

I’d like to thank everyone who has ever reviewed my work with an eagle’s eye, spotting inconsistencies, explaining inaccuracies, and verifying facts. I’d especially like to thank everyone who’s every said anything even remotely nice about my writing. We all need encouragement and support in this precarious process when words aren’t always quite right the first time around.

But most of all, I’d like to thank everyone who has ever trusted their words and ideas to my care. I am always in awe of the courage it takes to put words on paper, hit send and hope for the best.

I know exactly how you feel.

Keep writing!

The greatest Valentine’s Day gift: make fun of someone you love today

Published February 14, 2011 Creative Life , Essays , Fun , Social Commentary 3 Comments
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So my husband and I were having a…discussion the other day about my apparent need to tease him. Now, I don’t go out of my way to mock him. I don’t get sarcastically mean or tear him down in front of other people, nothing like that. But I do like to point out his…idiosyncracies.

For example, Hubby despises mayonnaise. He tells everyone he’s allergic to it. (We all know this is not possible.) He also despises when I defrost frozen meat in the microwave and then cook it. (He claims he can taste the difference.) These are little things, but they are the little wacky things that make him…my Hubby and not someone else’s. I am endeared by his charming quirks.

That’s exactly why I joke around with him about it. I notice these things because I love him. And how do I show affection to people I love? I make fun of then. Or rather, I make fun WITH them. It’s a long, storied family tradition. Joking around and affectionate teasing go all the way back to my grandmother on my father’s side. One of my relative’s on that side is a professional clown, for God’s sake.

Whenever I get together with my family, we all joke around, teasing each other, making fun of ourselves (we can dish it AND take it), but mostly, laughing. A lot. Of course, like a lot of people, we’ve had struggles: cancer, unemployment, marital distress, financial trouble. But we as a family have always used humor to keep us on track. To keep us sane. To make life fun no matter how dark the world may be. That’s when we all need a little lightness.

Last night, as my husband fended me off from joking about his hunt-and-peck method of typing, I told him the truth: I love you, therefore I tease you. I only reserve my joking and kidding for people I really, really care about. If I didn’t love him, I explain, I would never laugh at him OR with him. But mostly, I am trying to create that connection with him that is ingrained in me from The Family Way: when you love someone, you laugh with them. Sometimes at them, but mostly with them. :)

So this Valentine’s Day–Hallmark holiday that it is–make laughter with someone you love today.

 

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