That Loopy Feeling

image by Derek Farr (DetroitDerek)

I wrote a blog post the other night. In my head. While I was falling asleep. No worries, I remember it. I'm just too tired right now to spin that particular yarn. I'm still working on that project that I mentioned previously. It's nearing completion. But its end could mean just the beginning for something much larger. Am I being cryptic? Ah, but of course! (Say that last sentence in a French accent, s'il vous plait.) (I'm not sure why, but I feel like I'm channeling that lovely blue poppy Elizabeth tonight. You know her, oui? Ah, but of course you do! Or at least should. Go see her blog. She's funny. And charming.) (And for the record, I accidentally wrote "blue ploppy" the first time. It's fun to say. Say it.)

Anyway, I've got the Unnamed Project going on. And on top of that -- and this is the thing that's really sucking my energy -- there's a new project in my life. One that involves my alarm going off at 7:00 in the morning. If you know me even a teensy bit, you will know that this is, how shall we say?, la torture. I am a night owl. My biological clock tells me to go to bed in the a.m. hours and get up in the p.m. hours. So I'm all kerfuffled with this new project. It also requires me to drive a long distance to a real office and work around real people. I have to wear a bra and shoes all day long. It's exhausting. (Sometimes I slip my shoes off under the desk. I think it's only a matter of time until I start unhooking my bra and eventually furtively pulling it out through my sleeve.)

But the Far Away-Ass Early-Must Wear Bra-Project has some big plus sides. One: It's casual work attire. So apart from shoes and a bra, I can basically wear whatever I want. Two: It's good work. Good meaning: steady, well compensated, and pleasant. But wait, before you feel anxious, hear this: I am still a freelancer, people. This is merely a longer term contracted project. So don't worry your pretty little heads about me going corporate again. (As if working for one YMCA and two universities ever made me corporate.) I mention this last point for two reasons: One: To maintain my street cred as a creative contractor. Two: To point out that I'm still accepting additional freelance work. (Look at me, shilling for compliments and clients. Woot!)

So as you can tell by the tone and content of this blog post, Projects 1 & 2 are making me loopy. If, by some off chance, this post is not hilarious (as I suspect it is) and is actually annoying (for you) and embarrassing (for me), please let me know gently. Otherwise I might have to whip you in the eye with my bra. Or throw a shoe at you. Any excuse to get out of these damn things.

And now I'm going to go watch Le Lost. (That's French for Lost.) I bid you bonsoir!

Don't Fear Your Creative Genius

Dear Creative Ones,
Please watch this video. It might be just what you need.

"Elizabeth Gilbert muses on the impossible things we expect from artists and geniuses -- and shares the radical idea that, instead of the rare person "being" a genius, all of us "have" a genius. It's a funny, personal and surprisingly moving talk." (from TED Talks)

Her Morning Elegance

I don't know what I love more about this, the lyrics or the video. The artist, Oren Lavie, is new to me, but feels comfortably familiar. This video seems to be sprouting up all over blogland. Treat yourself to a cup of daydream and a few minutes to soak this in.

Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in its case

Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And she goes...
Nobody knows

Sun been down for days
A winter melody she plays
The thunder makes her contemplate
She hears a noise behind the gate
Perhaps a letter with a dove
Perhaps a stranger she could love

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And she goes...
Nobody knows

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
Where the people are pleasantly
Strange
And counting the change
And she goes...
Nobody knows

Whiteout

image by Badgurl

Yesterday was bright and wet here. The sun came out, the sky turned blue, and all the snow started to melt. Everything was sloppy and sparkly, a real treat. Usually I hate to see the snow melt because I love the look of a winter wonderland. But it was so pretty outside yesterday that I didn't mind. Today we were back to the grey, grey skies of southwestern Pennsylvania. If you don't live here you may not know this, but we have a lot of overcast days. I think everyone I know has a Vitamin D deficiency.

On Friday, I found myself in the middle of a total whiteout. I've never driven in such strange conditions. The snow was coming down so fast that everything was white: the ground, the air, the sky. The road was covered and there were no visible car tracks. Visibility was so low that I couldn't see a school bus coming toward me in the other lane until it was almost upon me. For part of my trip, I saw no other vehicles. I felt like I was totally alone in the world. It was very strange, like something out of a Sci-Fi movie.

With everything in the same shade of white, I started to lose my bearings. At several points I literally didn't know where the road stopped and the abutting hillside began. It was like being in a shaken-up snowglobe. This sensation triggered my claustrophobia. I felt trapped in the big wide open. Maybe that kind of fear all comes down to a loss of control.

The whiteout was a good physical incarnation of how I've been feeling for the past few weeks. I'm in the middle of a large project that I care about very much. I was working furiously to meet deadlines last week. I was immersed. I was in it, you know? I could barely tell which way was up for a few days.

Things aren't quite so frantic now, but the project isn't done yet. I have my bearings now, so if it gets crazy again, I think I'll just pull over for a few minutes and enjoy the beauty of it all until the storm passes.

Pitfalls of the Blogging Writer

image by the trial

There are many things I love about being a writer. There are many things I love about blogging. But sometimes, being a writer who blogs can be a real drag. Actually, being a writer has a number of pitfalls. I live in constant fear that I'll mispronounce the word "nuclear." I worry about undetected grammatical errors infiltrating my daily speech. Writing a quick email is never quick or easy. Words are my trade. Unfortunately, those very same words are what we English speakers use to communicate. So every written or verbal interaction is like a landmine for writers. One false move or double negative and BOOM! Not good.

I love using this space to tell stories. I also love that it's a place to make you laugh, share truth, and generally form and kindle connections. That's what I love about writing in general. So when I'm quiet for a few days (or nearly two weeks), it's not because I'm not thinking of you, dear reader. It's because I feel constrained by my role as Writer, capital W. I want to stop by and say, Hey friends, how's it goin'? It's cold and snowy here. Oh, and I've been working on a cool project. What's new with you?

But that's not very story-ish, now is it? (Plus, dropping the letter "g" from the ends of words could get me in trouble with the word police.) Even writing this post feels like a cop-out. In the back of my mind, I'm always aware that what I write on this blog can be used to judge me. Of course, that's true for all of us who blog or share our words in a public way: There's always the risk of judgement when we put ourselves out there. But that's a whole different emotional animal that deserves its own series of posts.

I mean that I know that potential clients and editors can come here and judge the quality of my writing or the content of my posts. I have no statistical data on this, but I believe that what I write here may be a factor in whether or not someone hires me. So I feel an unspoken pressure to make sure it's always good.

But that kind of pressure in this kind of format leads to no writing. While I often use this medium to share stories, a blog is something different than a book of essays. Sometimes I wonder if I should make it more like an online publication and less like my little corner of the virtual town square. But I've developed real friendships and made good professional contacts as a result of blogging. Erasing the community quotient from this space doesn't feel right.

I'd like to know how those of you who make your living creatively feel about this topic. Do you feel like everything you write must be a reinforcement of your personal "brand"? (I know, I know: many of you hate that term.) Does this issue of quality control impact other artists as much as it does writers? What about those of you in other fields? How do you balance staying in touch and building community with the need to provide quality content on a regular basis? And while you're at it in the comments, How you doin'?