Doing some minimal research this morning, I found http://www.problogger.net, a site with some potentially crucial information for bloggers. Geez, every time I dig in a little, I find the hole goes deeper and deeper! I have a lot to learn and a lot of work ahead of me. Sooo I guess it IS true that nothing in life is easy.
This afternoon I'm meeting with A.J. Sweatt, a personal writing hero of mine. The man just bubbles up with humor, something I'm always striving to cultivate (I wonder if one is just born with the ability to turn a witty phrase?). I'm excited to discuss his writing with him, and to glean some tips for striking out on one's own.
While I enjoy the nonfiction work and hope to eventually publish articles, at heart I'm a fiction writer. At times (like today) I can physically feel the force of images and ideas pushing at my sternum, trying to escape. This feeling is the inspiration, now the next step is to simmer down and communicate the kaleidoscope images to others. Isn't that always the hardest part?
February 27, 2011
February 25, 2011
Not-So-Super Spy
So I've definitely been slacking on the writing, blog or no blog. I just haven't felt very inspired, and those evil self-doubt demons always seem to track me down. Even now, surrounded by inspiration at Barnes & Noble, I'm finding it difficult to focus. It might be that I can't take my eyes off the man reading a magazine in front of me... the reverse-moobs sagging from his shoulder blades are mesemerizing... So maybe getting out of the house is not necessarily the quick fix I need?
Maybe I would benefit from a little caffeine. Aren't all writers chain smoking caffeine guzzlers? The problem with coffee is it makes me chattier, thus more social, thus more likely to pick up my phone and call someone (anyone who is willing to entertain me for as long as possible.)
Perhaps what I need is to develop a persona. Last week I was sitting at Starbucks, going through the same internal battle trying to get some work done, when a woman approached me to share my electrical outlet (isn't it amazing what brings people together these days?). She was a posh South Asian woman with a smooth British accent. "I do hope you don't mind my using this outlet," she purred. "So sorry to be a bother." *Polite tinkling laughter.* She was so British, she may as well have been offering me tea and crumpets.
She sat down, began typing away on her laptop, answered the phone and spoke to several other Starbucks customers in that delightful lilt. I was wondering what such a sophisticated European woman was doing in the Atlanta suburbs, when her friend walked in and sat down next to her... and she went all Jersey on me. It took me a few minutes of eavesdropping to finally confirm that, indeed, she had switched from Princess Di to Real Housewives in an instant.
The theories are: she must be an actress, practicing her trade / she must be a spy. I say, if she is indeed a spy, she's not a very discreet one.
To get back to my point, maybe I need to be in a role to convince myself to write. Something appropriately bookish, no?
Mmm, I'm thinking less Arnold, more argyle sweater, newsboy hat, curled moustache.
Alright, costumes aside, I seriously think I need to be in a certain mode to sit down and focus. So from now on, my persona-slash-pen name shall be... Esmeralda Von Grunewald. Maybe.
February 2, 2011
Baby, You Are the Wind in My... Pants?
I had a weird day.
First, teaching my morning French class was like pulling teeth. It was one of those difficult lessons where I was a little in over my head, plus I had to dance for my students to keep them engaged every time their eyes glazed over or they started checking their email. Those are the toughest students: the ones who have studied the language before, think they know more than they really do, and are extremely clever to boot.
Between that class and my afternoon lesson I stopped in at Chipotle for a quick lunch. The hispanic guy at the register (as Jamie later quipped, "Pedro or Alfresco or whatever") started mildly flirting with me in Spanish, until he found out I'm not actually Latina and promptly lost interest. Relieved, thinking I finally had a half-hour to myself to relax and catch up on some emails, I sat down with my burrito... only to be ambushed by a huge guy (I mean, this man definitely played football at some point in his life), who proceeded to make himself comfortable at my table. He was extraordinarily persistent in trying to convince me to leave my boyfriend for him, and in getting my number - which he ultimately stole by grabbing my phone and calling himself from it. In the end I abandoned my burrito and extricated myself from his hounding. Dude, here's some free dating advice: white girls don't go out with annoying guys who invade their space. Relentless. And he has my number. Well, damn.
The rest of my afternoon went as planned. The second class was child's play compared to the first, and I met a few people at a blogger meetup after work. I learned a little about using video and streaming in a blog, but mostly I realized how much I have to learn. It did get me fired up to start my website, though.
And finally, when I got home, the crowning moment of my day. I knelt down to pick up the dog's leash... and my pants split straight down the middle.
This has never happened to me before. My favorite booty-hugging pinstripe pants! The only article of clothing I own that's professional AND attractive! Now they look more like something you might surprise your boyfriend with at the office after-hours.
...Hmm. Well, at least they're not totally useless.
First, teaching my morning French class was like pulling teeth. It was one of those difficult lessons where I was a little in over my head, plus I had to dance for my students to keep them engaged every time their eyes glazed over or they started checking their email. Those are the toughest students: the ones who have studied the language before, think they know more than they really do, and are extremely clever to boot.
Between that class and my afternoon lesson I stopped in at Chipotle for a quick lunch. The hispanic guy at the register (as Jamie later quipped, "Pedro or Alfresco or whatever") started mildly flirting with me in Spanish, until he found out I'm not actually Latina and promptly lost interest. Relieved, thinking I finally had a half-hour to myself to relax and catch up on some emails, I sat down with my burrito... only to be ambushed by a huge guy (I mean, this man definitely played football at some point in his life), who proceeded to make himself comfortable at my table. He was extraordinarily persistent in trying to convince me to leave my boyfriend for him, and in getting my number - which he ultimately stole by grabbing my phone and calling himself from it. In the end I abandoned my burrito and extricated myself from his hounding. Dude, here's some free dating advice: white girls don't go out with annoying guys who invade their space. Relentless. And he has my number. Well, damn.
The rest of my afternoon went as planned. The second class was child's play compared to the first, and I met a few people at a blogger meetup after work. I learned a little about using video and streaming in a blog, but mostly I realized how much I have to learn. It did get me fired up to start my website, though.
And finally, when I got home, the crowning moment of my day. I knelt down to pick up the dog's leash... and my pants split straight down the middle.
 |
| HHHiiiiYAAAAH! Something tells me I should lay off the burritos. |
...Hmm. Well, at least they're not totally useless.
February 1, 2011
Some are Silver, the Others Gold
I don't care what anyone says. I love Facebook.
When I first created my FB account, the site was intended for a growing network of university students who wanted to a) keep in touch with their high school friends, and b) show off how cool they were by posting pictures of themselves getting hammered at spring break. Of course, now FB is massive and worldwide, with all the benefits and consequences that go along with it. You know things have changed when your grandparents are tagging pictures of you flinging your feces around like a monkey circa 1984.
Yet the appeal of FB hasn't changed. We still want to connect with old friends (and we still want to show off how well we've aged). When I was growing up, every 3 or 4 years my stepfather would be posted to a different embassy or diplomatic organization. It was always hard to leave friends, knowing that long-distance friendships don't hold up so well. Every kid eventually loses interest in sending pen pal letters and moves on. In cometh FB to change everything! I have managed to reconnect with almost every person I've had a relationship with in my life, just by adding them to my list of FB friends. The site makes it so easy to maintain friendships over distances. Just a comment here and there, or even just a "like" on others' status every once in awhile - these tiny gestures take only a second, but show others that we still think about them and care for them.
Amongst all the many (315) friends I have in the world, there are those who are especially dear to me. I miss these people all the time. You know, the friends who make your heart sing. They are my very own therapists, bringing me out of my bouts of loneliness and depression just by a quick chat on the phone or Skype. I am quite certain that I would not be in touch with these people if it weren't for the Internets. How sad that would be!
[Anyway, that's my long-winded soliloquy touting the wonders of social networking. Thank you, Mark Zuckerburg and your anonymous college roommates.]
When I first created my FB account, the site was intended for a growing network of university students who wanted to a) keep in touch with their high school friends, and b) show off how cool they were by posting pictures of themselves getting hammered at spring break. Of course, now FB is massive and worldwide, with all the benefits and consequences that go along with it. You know things have changed when your grandparents are tagging pictures of you flinging your feces around like a monkey circa 1984.
Yet the appeal of FB hasn't changed. We still want to connect with old friends (and we still want to show off how well we've aged). When I was growing up, every 3 or 4 years my stepfather would be posted to a different embassy or diplomatic organization. It was always hard to leave friends, knowing that long-distance friendships don't hold up so well. Every kid eventually loses interest in sending pen pal letters and moves on. In cometh FB to change everything! I have managed to reconnect with almost every person I've had a relationship with in my life, just by adding them to my list of FB friends. The site makes it so easy to maintain friendships over distances. Just a comment here and there, or even just a "like" on others' status every once in awhile - these tiny gestures take only a second, but show others that we still think about them and care for them.
Amongst all the many (315) friends I have in the world, there are those who are especially dear to me. I miss these people all the time. You know, the friends who make your heart sing. They are my very own therapists, bringing me out of my bouts of loneliness and depression just by a quick chat on the phone or Skype. I am quite certain that I would not be in touch with these people if it weren't for the Internets. How sad that would be!
[Anyway, that's my long-winded soliloquy touting the wonders of social networking. Thank you, Mark Zuckerburg and your anonymous college roommates.]
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