Archive for the 'Creative Life' Category

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.

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.

 

Marketing Campaign Creative: Are you guilty of these 5 subjective sins?

Published January 20, 2011 Brand , Copywriting , Creative Life , Design , Marketing 2 Comments
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Everyone’s got an opinion, but when it comes to creative work, those subjective opinions, biases and perceptions can get in the way of great creative work and hamper the whole process.

Here are 5 subjective “sins” that come up most often:

1. Anti-Feet. One client I worked with hated feet. As a b2b company in the analytics business, there was very little reason for us to SHOW feet in the first place, but his preference was so strong that it became an unwritten rule in the brand standards. If we wanted to show people, we had to show them from the waist up.

This reduces the number of images designers have to choose from and slows down the creative process.

Designer:  “LOOK! This image of a couple walking down the path conveys everything we want perfectly: warmth, joy, energy. It’s perfect!”

Marketing Manager: “No, wait. That guy’s foot is showing.”

Designer: “I’ll photoshop it out!”

Marketing Manager: “No, then he’ll look like he has no feet and then You Know Who will start thinking about his feet and it’s all over. Search again.”

Designer: &*%#$%^

2. The Purple Bias. There are some people who absolutely hate one color or another, sometimes for no good reason. Just because. In my experience, it’s most often purple. Oftentimes this hated color is in the brand’s color palette, but no one realizes it because someone has decided that they hate it and it can never be used.

What’s the point of having a palette if you’re only going to use 2 of the 8 colors? That’s like wearing only black and white every day of your life. It works for some people, but for others, it just gets boring. Sometimes a good shot of purple is just what your brand needs.

3. Real People. When there’s no money or true need for a photo shoot, stock photos from places like iStock and Getty fit the bill nicely–except when someone gets hung up on the people in the photos. Other times, people don’t realize that stock photos are just that–stock, off the shelf–and you end up throwing design concerns to the wind and focusing more on personal reactions like:

“But these people don’t look like us!” (Exactly.)
“I don’t like that guy’s beard. It’s creepy.” (Beard bias)
“I thought you were going to find an image of 7 guys in our company jerseys playing softball with the company mascot in the corner!!” (Repeat after me: stock photos)

4. The Parakeet Syndrome. Another common problem is when people like a certain subject to show up in all images–say, kids or parakeets–and insist on using those types of images, and only those types of images, for their brand.

For example, if you own a pet store, then sure, images of parakeets or dogs are fine. If you’re going for a concept that conveys, say, working like a dog or feeling caged in, OK, there’s a connection there between the concept and the visual. Note: This is not like choosing a brand mascot, such as the Geico Gecko (nice alliteration there, by the way).

But be wary of anyone who wants to feature parakeets on every ad  just because they like parakeets, especially if it has nothing to do with their business or the big idea driving your campaign. There should be a reason, or method, behind the madness.

5. We Want to See Real People! There are times when using “real” people works–say, the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty or casual YouTube videos. And then there are times when using “real” people screams cheesy and low budget. If you’ve ever seen a TV commercial where a car dealership owner speaks in a monotone at the screen or an athlete is clearly fixated on the teleprompter, you know what I’m talking about.

If you want to use real people in your photos or videos, ask yourself why. If it’s because that’s all you can afford, that’s OK. But you must choose employees or customers who have good presence–they speak clearly and articulately, have energy, and look natural there in front of the camera. It’s important to find someone who fits the part. That’s why there are talent agencies–it’s all about finding the right fit.

Just remember, all art and creative is subjective. But when it comes to marketing, staying true to your concept and your brand is what’s most important–leave the Purple and Beard Bias at home.

Could you be the next Steve Jobs?

Published January 19, 2011 Business , Creative Life , Social Commentary , Work Life 2 Comments
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Now that Apple’s Steve Jobs has announced he is taking another medical leave of absence, there’s been a frenzy of chatter in the media about what will happen to Apple without him. My favorite analysis of a “Job-less” Apple is this well-thought out FastCompany article, How Apple Could Fall Without Steve.

It balances Job’s strengths (vision, energy) and weaknesses (odd resistances, such as the Adobe/flash debate, firewire vs. USB) and how Apple would fare without him at the helm. The author also rightly acknowledges that “Jobs isn’t the only genius in the world.”

And that got me thinking: how does one individual become so intertwined with a company that the two become almost one? It’s hard to tell what came first, the Apple or the Jobs. But Jobs’ vision, energy and passion is inspiring and drives the business. You either love or hate Apple (and Jobs for that matter), but there’s no denying that Apple is the darling of the technology world at this moment. But now everyone is wondering if, and how, his absence might change everything.

Are you the next Steve Jobs?
Whether you work in technology, retail, marketing, construction or any other industry, do you have what it takes to be a Steve Jobs? You don’t need to be Jobs to be considered integral to your company or business–but you do need to be considered valuable. Resourceful. Visionary. Passionate. You need to bring that je ne sais quoi to your work that makes people care whether you stay or go.

Coming out of one of the worst recessions since the Great Depression, we’ve all learned that we are replaceable. Heck, even Jobs is replaceable, although the results are debatable. So we’re all looking for ways to make ourselves as irreplaceable as possible, to make people worry about what would happen next if we were gone.

“A hundred years from now? All new people.”
Anne Lamott

So knowing that there will be all new people 100 years from now, how do you make your mark today? (Surely Jobs thinks of this as he battles pancreatic cancer.) And when I say that, I don’t mean, how do you drive a company to billions of dollars in profit. I mean, what drives you? What do you care about? How can you become a visionary leader in your own life or job?

Off the top of my head, I think it requires these six things:

Have a vision. Take time to think about your vision for the future. What is your ideal job? What are you doing daily? What does that look like? What’s the big picture for you? For your job? For your industry as a whole? Anticipate a trend; visualize how you see things going. Then stay true to your vision until it happens or until it doesn’t feel right anymore or you have reason to believe otherwise. You can always tweak your vision. But if you’re working without one, you might as well be walking around blind-folded.

Innovate. What problem, big or small, drives you crazy? How can you solve it? What’s missing in the world and why? What can you do about it? What is something you’d like to change? Companies that don’t take a risk or change or continue to produce new ideas grow stagnate or become followers more than leaders. (Microsoft, anyone?)

The same is true for people. When was the last time you took a chance, whether it’s speaking up at the staff meeting or exploring that new product idea you’ve been toying with for years? Be bold. Be daring. Be creative.

Listen. What are people talking about? What do they want? Based on what you hear and know, what do you think people want that they haven’t even articulated yet? For Jobs, it was good design, innovation and products that “just work.” This will also help you know when it’s time to change course or reshape your vision. After all, just because it’s your vision doesn’t mean it’s right or the that the world is ready for it.

Find your passion. I can’t imagine anything worse than waking up every day feeling dead inside because you don’t love what you do. If you don’t feel inspired or challenged, if you’re just going through the motions, think about what you wanted to be when you were 10 years old. Remember what you liked to do with your time and energy before “real life” kicked in.

Find some way to incorporate that passion into your day right now, this very minute. Watch the color come back into your face and into the world around you.

Believe. In yourself, in your idea, in the fact that you can make it work. Because trust me, there are going to be days when no one believes in you, including yourself. You’re going to lose faith. You’ll question yourself, doubt your decisions, especially when the going gets tough. But if you can reach into your heart and say with all honesty, “This is what I believe in,” and hear it answered back to yourself, you’ll get through it.

This is also about believing in people around you. If you surround yourself with good people–the right people–you will have others to lean on when you lose faith. Ideally, these people will call you out on your bullshit. They won’t just tell you what you want to hear. You should believe in them too, because belief goes both ways.

Fail. Taking a chance, risking something, putting yourself “out there”–it’s scary. It doesn’t feel good to fail, so most of us avoid it at all costs. But you can survive it. You can’t get to the next level or the next big idea or where you’re supposed to be if you don’t fail once in a while. No one is perfect, not even Steve Jobs. Apple TV isn’t quite where it needs to be yet, for example.

But if you are willing to take a chance on something you believe in–if you give yourself permission to try, and you fail–whatever “failure” means to you–you’re a winner because you had the guts to try. You can always change your dream or change your course, but if you never try because you were too afraid, that’s the saddest failure of all.

When good gingerbread men go bad: how to bake the best of an awkward situation

Published December 22, 2010 Creative Families , Creative Life , Fun , Holidays Leave a Comment
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I ordered all my gifts online this year, which meant I had more time on my hands for attempting holiday-oriented crafts than in years past. My family was tentatively excited. I am not a “crafty” person, which surprises those who think creative professionals flit around in their spare time constantly dreaming up creative ways to engage our kids in “extreme” crafts that require gallons of tape, pipe cleaners, popsicle sticks, egg cartons, paper towel rolls and stick-on eyes.

Nope. As a marketing copywriter, my job is to write copy that sells stuff somebody else made. That means my brain is already chock full of video white papers, engaging social media stories and visions of high email open rates and click-throughs dancing in my head. It’s a wonderful life indeed.

I decided to try making gingerbread cookies. I can hear pastry chefs everywhere now: Christy Miles, put down the decorating tips and cookie cutters and nobody gets hurt! The baking part is easy–buy a box mix, stir together the ingredients, roll out the dough, use the cookie cutters, snap! So easy. So deceiving. Then comes the decorating part. I distributed my homemade cookies to my neighbors for the first time this year and worried that my Gingerbread Men might scare the small children. Then I thought, nah, they’re cookies, kids will eat anything with frosting. And on the upside, at least everyone would know without a doubt that the cookies weren’t store-bought.

As my holiday gift to you, here are two of my gingerbread cookies with my quick marketing analysis.

 

The Mr. Bill Gingerbread Man

When I uploaded this photo, wordpress.com asked if I wanted to add an alternate text for the image, “i.e., the Mona Lisa.” Ha ha, WordPress, very funny!

He looks scared, this Gingerbread Man. Sadly, this is how many of my Gingerbread men turned out, looking vaguely like that old Saturday Night Live puppet/play-doh man Mr. Bill. My clumsy fingers could barely place the M&Ms gently into the small dollop of icing for the buttons. One even flipped over, showing the M, which I know would never cut it in the design or pastry world, but I was too lazy to fix it. Oh, who am I kidding, this wouldn’t even make a preschool’s line-up. Next up we have…

 

Bugsy the Bug-Eyed Gingerbread Man

When I started this cookie stuff, I was seriously intent on making cute gingerbread men. I got to this guy and thought, hmm, I wonder how he would look with M&Ms for eyes? No one ever shows Gingerbread Men with M&M eyes. Now we know why.

He looks freaked out or like he’s had a bad eye lift. Or perhaps it’s a goiter? We’ll never know. My family had a wonderful holiday moment as we tried to brainstorm what ailed Bugsy. Never mind the fact that Bugsy’s buttons are touching his mouth, the poor guy has no neck. But hey, he’s smiling.

My kids also decorated Gingerbread Men and they turned out to be much more fearless in their use of color, style and approach.

Kid-Friendly Gingerbread Men

OK, so the middle one has frosting bug eyes; getting the eyes right is definitely one of the trickiest parts. But all in all, these Gingerbread Men are fun, festive, colorful and look like they were made by kids for kids. Definitely more charming than my gingerbread freaks of nature. These would get eaten for sure.

Except not at my house. No one wants to eat them now because we are having too much fun making fun of them. So we’ve decided to make up a story about each Gingerbread Man and read them out loud on Christmas.

Writing. Now that I know how to do. This is why I’m a copywriter, not a pastry chef. :)

Happy holidays, everyone. Wishing you a wildly creative Christmas and New Year!

Drinking and decorating: The anti-Martha-Stewart-Pottery-Barn Christmas tree

Published December 17, 2010 Creative Families , Creative Life , Creative Parenting , Essays , Fun , Kids , Social Commentary 8 Comments
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Two years ago, I turned over the job of decorating my Christmas tree to my kids, then ages 7 and 9. We had just moved into our “new” 54-year-old house that needed a lot of TLC and was sucking the life out of us. After months of looking for new places for our furniture, artwork, books, games, dishes, and walking into walls in unfamiliar rooms in the middle of the night and grasping for unfamiliar light switches, the thought of having to find a good place for the Christmas tree was the last straw. I sat on the floor of the house that still felt like someone else’s and cried.

This was not Christmas as I’d known it growing up. Holidays were BIG at my house and consisted of cleaning, cooking, shopping, baking, more cleaning, coordinating outfits, practicing Christmas songs on the organ (I know, right???), wrapping, more cleaning, making cookies, making pierogis, and more cleaning. My mother spent days arranging decorations in the house; she was Martha Stewart before anyone had heard of Martha Stewart.

I was never permitted to touch the “good” tree upstairs, but I was allowed to decorate the “other” tree in the basement. I call it the consolation tree. (Usually my mother would come down later and rearrange all the ornaments again anyway.) Secretly I fear I’ll never be good enough to put together the good tree.

See, that’s why the holidays are tricky. There’s all this pressure to be merry and buy stuff but it’s also fraught with memories, good and bad. Sometime after Halloween, I remember all the old family holiday parties and every year, there are a few less faces around the table. Some years are harder than others. That year in our new old house was a hard one.

So I let my kids decorate the good–the only–tree all by themselves that year, and it was so much fun we decided to make it a new Miles family tradition. We play holiday music. I make hot chocolate.  The kids dance around all hopped up on sugar cookies. They make me wear the Santa hat with the reindeer antlers. But they take their job very seriously. Each ornament is placed with great care and consideration, although I have the most random, crazy mix of ornaments you could possibly imagine. It’s enough to make Martha’s toes curl.

The reactions to their decorating efforts are usually…not good. People walk in, look at the tree and say things like, “Oh my!” or “Were you drinking and decorating again?” It makes me wonder sometimes how my mom felt when she stood back, alone, to survey her tree and the trimmings and the perfection. I would ask, but her last Christmas was 16 years ago. If she could see my tree now, she would immediately shoo me out of the room so she could fix it. I would let her do it, but only if she wore the Santa hat with the reindeer antlers, which she’d hate because it would mess up her hair.

So yeah, my tree looks disheveled and a little tipsy, kind of like me after the neighborhood holiday party–OK, all of the neighborhood parties–and the complete opposite of any tree ever featured in Pottery Barn.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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