tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80189392024-03-07T01:24:30.083-07:00I'm ProcrastinatingThe misadventures of a frantic freelancer, fighting to continue her career during nap-time.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.comBlogger146125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-2218211652081761782016-01-28T13:48:00.000-08:002016-01-28T13:48:16.072-08:00Passing Through: The Journal<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
I am honored and pleased to have been a doula in the birthing of this issue of a wonderful literary magazine. Jessica Hahn is a cool mom I met at the playground, and we've been hanging out for years; she's also a gifted writer who somehow finds the energy to perform at readings, to which she drags me along when I deign to leave my house exactly every blue moon.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
She told me she was stressed out, working on the most recent issue of Passing Through, and asked if I wanted to read some of the submissions. While she and some other women drank wine and chased the kids back into the backyard and chatted, I repaired to a dark corner and sat happily with a red pen and her stack of poems. </div>
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I've been editing poetry since I was twelve. My mom, <a href="https://www.dosmadres.com/shop/ashes-and-all-by-marjorie-deiter-keyishian/" target="_blank">Marjorie Keyishian, is an amazing poet.</a> I would watch her compose on her Underwood typewriter; mostly it looked like staring, followed by frantic clickity-clackity, followed by more staring, and a whole lot of smoking. One day, she flapped a piece of paper at me and said, "Read this over and tell me what parts don't flow." As I looked at the page, it was as if I saw a grid or a structure, and the parts of the poem that were extraneous, and I trimmed and made circles and drew lines. It felt very familiar. I cannot write poetry, but I do know how to shepherd a poem from concept to completion. Mom thought I would be able to and made sure I did. Many times over the years. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Somehow this never became part of my professional experience. I regret that. I work in magazines, not in literary publishing houses. But Jess reawakened that old habit in me, and I have enjoyed it so much.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Here it is. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">http://www.passingthroughjournal.com/#!amy-keyishian-maribeth-solomon/c1xa9</span></span></div>
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We are shooting for the next issue this summer, if any of you gifted writers and artists in my circle want to be included. We're looking for 400 word submissions - poetry, prose, whatever. We're going to make it an amazing event as well. Big plans afoot.</div>
xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-19760378741892240572014-03-12T08:17:00.002-07:002014-03-12T08:18:32.009-07:00Back From Job Land: #KatieFisherDay I've left the freelance world, but that means there's stuff I want to write about and can't hustle up an outlet. Here's one such story. Go make cookies.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMdZdDf1UoacFzTvB5HB2jzAezkKudYMPpZZ_Afo_5GFIT9wIWGlrm8v9scDUzwIC1WMPg2Myjg0ensOOwAcgPMZkifohhGsi2uWLBCYBJwpPYZvCIPLd3zhNKOyW4tPHuXESUg/s1600/KatieFisherDay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMdZdDf1UoacFzTvB5HB2jzAezkKudYMPpZZ_Afo_5GFIT9wIWGlrm8v9scDUzwIC1WMPg2Myjg0ensOOwAcgPMZkifohhGsi2uWLBCYBJwpPYZvCIPLd3zhNKOyW4tPHuXESUg/s1600/KatieFisherDay.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Usually, when a web site asks you about
cookies, it doesn't mean … <i>cookies</i>. But today,
KatieFisherDay.com is literally (literally!) asking you for cookies,
and it's all because a comedian got in a fight with an insurance
company.
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<br />
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Two things about Matt Fisher: He's
never, with the exception of a couple of McJobs, been anything but a
comedian, mostly with the UCB Theater in New York (where I studied at
the same time, though we didn't know each other there). And he'd
always been super-close with his kid sister by 7 years, Katie.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We grew up as real partners,”
Fisher says. “Perhaps because of the age difference, there was no
rivalry. We colluded. We did it all together.” Katie stayed with
him the night before his wedding to calm his nerves. And during
college, she baked a batch of cookies for him every week.
</div>
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<br />
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File that one away for later.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In 2010, at the age of 24, Katie was
killed in a car accident. That was horrible enough, but through a
series of weird corporate requirements and manipulations, her family
was required to sue the driver who hit her in order to get a payout
from her insurance. (It's complicated.) And then in 2012, Katie's
insurer, Progressive, hired a lawyer to help the guy they were suing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</div>
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“I get kind of embarrassed when I see
people living their emotional lives in public, especially via social
media,” says Fisher. “I'm not the type to tweet about sad
feelings.”
</div>
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<br />
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But anger? Anger was a different story.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
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“I was so offended that Progressive
would line up against Katie and my folks in court that I wrote about
it <a href="http://mattfisher.tumblr.com/post/29338478278/my-sister-paid-progressive-insurance-to-defend-her">on
Tumblr,</a>” says Fisher. This “got the Internet's attention,”
as <a href="http://mattfisher.tumblr.com/post/29338478278/my-sister-paid-progressive-insurance-to-defend-her">Gawker
put it</a>, and a hashtag campaign was born: Fisher's friends, then
friends-of-friends, then the wider Tweeterverse began hammering
Progressive Auto Insurance (the company with the cute spokeswoman,
Flo) with demands that they quit playing corporate games, tagged
#KatieFisher; the response was the sort of marketing meltdown that
serves as a cautionary tale for any company in any industry, as
Progressive's feed became solely populated by seemingly automated
individual replies to every tweet.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was embarrassing. Progressive had to
do a good amount of cleanup. And it was hailed as a triumph of
grassroots social media when Progressive apologized and <a href="http://blogs.wsj.com/law/2012/08/17/insurance-spat-that-went-viral-ends-in-settlement/">settled
with the Fishers</a>, with one news outlet declaring that “when
it's Twitter vs. lawyers, <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/08/17/158985866/insurer-will-pay-in-case-that-quickly-went-viral">take
Twitter.</a>”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Life goes on. (Well, not Katie's, but …
anyway.) Matt Fisher is back with another hashtag. And if the first
one was borne of anger, this one is borne of affection.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It was very gratifying when people
were jumping on Progressive and hashtagging her tweets with her
name,” Fisher says. “But what was being discussed wasn't Katie or
her life. It was Progressive. I'm so glad people got behind my
parents, but I thought: let's bring it around to Katie's life, what I
loved about her, and what she did for me …. So one weekend I
rattled off a bunch of tweets with her name hashtagged, and they were
about her: things I admired about her, facts about her. And one of
those was the cookie story.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A friend came up with the idea to use
the same hashtag to encourage people to celebrate Katie's birthday by
baking (or buying!) cookies for a loved one. Just random cookies for
random people. (Recipes are available at <a href="http://katiefisherday.org/">KatieFisherDay.org</a>.)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You shouldn't necessarily be telling
Katie's story when you give out your cookies,” Fisher says. “You
should be talking to the person you're giving the cookies to, about
your feelings. If that's the sum total of the connection to Katie,
that's great.” He admits that it fills his heart to see the hashtag
used for positive feelings this time, that it assuages his grief and
that the buildup around the holiday is a welcome distraction. But
“I'm not crowdsourcing my therapy,” he says. “It's more about
all of us acting a little more like Katie than just remembering her.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So: Happy #KatieFisherDay. Go forth and
deliver a cookie to someone you love. Because Twitter > lawyers</div>
xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-57676284530828228572013-09-17T11:35:00.001-07:002013-09-17T11:35:42.546-07:00The Telephone ConundrumIn general, my quality of working life is as good as it can be. A couple of years ago, I made a decision out of total desperation to STOP working for less than a certain dollar amount per post. It's simply unrealistic for me to think "oh, I'll just write the posts faster." I don't write them faster. I write everything at the same rate, because my name is on them and it's not worth it to me to suck in public. This has worked out: after a few lean months, I fell into a great pattern with solid clients. <br />
<br />
But when I stumble these days, it's because of a very specific aversion that perplexes me and, yes, has definitely cost me clients. I can't stand to talk on the phone anymore. Anytime I have to interview someone, I have to psych myself up. And I'm good at the interviews! I'm fast, friendly, perceptive! But the dread just drags me down, and I know I'm not the only one. A Facebook friend had to speak to me urgently - but only via chat. "Don't call me, I'm phone-phobic these days," she said. And I get it. <br />
<br />
But guys, we all spent HOURS on the phone in high school, right? Like, not even talking, just watching TV "with" our friends. So. Much. Time. On the telephone. <br />
<br />
Maybe I used up my phone time early. <br />
<br />
I did get an old-school handset that turns my iphone into a Princess phone. Which has made a huge difference, actually. It's snazzy. Only trouble is I keep trying to "hang up" the receiver instead of pushing the button. Another activity I excelled in in high school. <br />
<br />
Welp. Now you know. I'm off to -- **shudder** -- <i>call someone</i> now. xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-78751686674594405152013-05-17T12:56:00.001-07:002013-05-17T12:58:34.639-07:00Let Me Be Your Front Door WomanThrilling! A couple months ago I hooked up with HGTV's FrontDoor.com to be their Bay Area reporter. After much hard work on the part of my editors, "my" end of the site has relaunched. I'll be doing 3 posts a week for them. Bookmark the home page:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.frontdoor.com/places/san-francisco-ca-us">http://www.frontdoor.com/places/san-francisco-ca-us</a><br />
<br />
and take a gander at my inaugural post:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.frontdoor.com/houses/thats-so-bay-thoughts-on-the-san-francisco-decorator-showcase">http://www.frontdoor.com/houses/thats-so-bay-thoughts-on-the-san-francisco-decorator-showcase</a><br />
<br />
So far, it's been a ton of my favorite style of reporting -- getting to be a nosy-noodle-looky-loo and obsess over real estate, decor, and Pinterest-type obsession. Yay. YAY!! <br />
<br />
ANd this weekend I'm going to Maker Faire with two editors. Hooray! <br />
xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-91703898265332154522013-04-24T13:31:00.002-07:002013-04-24T14:16:44.946-07:00Richie Havens RIPI'm so sad to hear of the passing of Richie Havens. I had the distinct honor of interviewing him when I was an editor at Brooklyn Bridge Magazine. He was gracious and generous with his time. Talking to him on the phone was like leaning my ear against a huge purring cat, or like having a soothing hot liquid poured into my brain. As I remember it he mailed me a few pages of handwritten notes that were very easy to organize into this article -- it was just a matter of rearranging and shaping, not rewriting. All words were his. The pleasure was mine.<br />
<div><br />
</div><p style=" margin: 12px auto 6px auto; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; -x-system-font: none; display: block;"><a title="View Richie Havens article in Brooklyn Bridge Magazine on Scribd" href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/137816955/Richie-Havens-article-in-Brooklyn-Bridge-Magazine" style="text-decoration: underline;" >Richie Havens article in Brooklyn Bridge Magazine</a></p><iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" src="http://www.scribd.com/embeds/137816955/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll" data-auto-height="false" data-aspect-ratio="undefined" scrolling="no" id="doc_77983" width="100%" height="600" frameborder="0"></iframe><br />
<br />
<p style=" margin: 12px auto 6px auto; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; -x-system-font: none; display: block;"><a title="View Richie Havens in Brooklyn Bridge, Part 2 on Scribd" href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/137816949/Richie-Havens-in-Brooklyn-Bridge-Part-2" style="text-decoration: underline;" >Richie Havens in Brooklyn Bridge, Part 2</a></p><iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" src="http://www.scribd.com/embeds/137816949/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll" data-auto-height="false" data-aspect-ratio="undefined" scrolling="no" id="doc_28217" width="100%" height="600" frameborder="0"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Thanks to editor extraordinaire and keeper of ephemera Joe Fodor. </div>xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-58784688025075466112012-12-17T11:26:00.004-08:002012-12-17T11:26:44.744-08:00Some Very Old (Very Entertaining) Clips<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7UfeRKl4RGxqXu3stX9brpCO4B5J1jnf-ykAJDDLtE0pROQjPNsjtOV43qjgxHhTPwY5a7inlMbcR3JAQdlNJ4cpMHVGgQYHkTFsk6ta3n7ADleH9Y8UZUeFLkGPLLEGd6W_CDw/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-12-17+at+11.25.29+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7UfeRKl4RGxqXu3stX9brpCO4B5J1jnf-ykAJDDLtE0pROQjPNsjtOV43qjgxHhTPwY5a7inlMbcR3JAQdlNJ4cpMHVGgQYHkTFsk6ta3n7ADleH9Y8UZUeFLkGPLLEGd6W_CDw/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-12-17+at+11.25.29+AM.png" width="320" /></a>An old pal from my days at Cosmopolitan Magazine just hipped me to this archive of magazine articles at Villanova. Here, we see many of my Cosmo articles -- including the "American Pie Chart," "Men Unzipped: The Secret His Undies Reveal" (for which I interviewed, off the record, my crush at Esquire), and my expose on the Brazilian bikini wax.<br />
<br />
But in addition, there are more recent gems I had forgotten about, such as "can you build a better PENIS?" from Redbook, 2004. I don't know why PENIS is so big, except that maybe PENIS got excited at the idea of a better PENIS.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://library.villanova.edu/Find/Summon/Search?lookfor=Amy+Keyishian&type=Author&page=1&view=list" target="_blank">Villanova Falvey Library</a><br />
<br />
I'm going to get interesting page-views on this one, aren't I. Well, go click the ads, PENIS-lovers.<br />
<br />
Anyway, it's nice to see there's a record of some of my more ridiculous articles, though I have no idea how to access it. I'd follow that rabbit hole down to its end, but I have to <i>not</i> procrastinate this morning, and that's pretty much a prime example of work avoidance by way of pretending something is tangentially related to work and therefore OK to spend the morning on.<br />
<br />
Begone, temptation! If anyone else wants to research this, be my guest!xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-83634278126189603442012-11-30T15:34:00.002-08:002012-11-30T15:34:44.742-08:00The Financial Lives of the FreelancersI read a novel by <a href="http://www.jesswalter.com/" target="_blank">Jess Walters</a> called <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/17/books/17maslin.html" target="_blank">The Financial Lives of the Poets</a>. In it, a hapless financial reporter finds himself laid off and unemployable and makes a stunning series of ill-thought-out mistakes in an effort to cling to his middle-class existence. The main character was a bit of a pud, but that probably only bothered me because he was my kind of pud -- his stunned disbelief at being in the position he's in and his utter lack of direction, now that he's adrift, were all too familiar to me. Laid-off, unemployable, scrabbling for freelance dimes that I swear used to be dollars -- yeah. It's hard to feel at a distance from that guy.<br />
<br />
It was a still a good, funny, solid read though, and I appreciated this gem, in the acknowledgements at the end:<br />
<br />
"...and all of my dismayed and displaced newspaper friends, whose talent and commitment deserve a better world."<br />
<br />
I'll pretend he said "and magazine" and make myself part of the group. Blerg.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-16155221916961776112012-11-14T14:32:00.000-08:002012-11-14T14:33:59.278-08:00Also, I'm A Tiny Bit Cray-Cray<br />
Speaking of procrastinating, this morning, Johnny Galecki (now of <a href="http://www.cbs.com/shows/big_bang_theory/" target="_blank">The Big Bang Theory</a>) was on Sesame Street, and I was reminded that in 1992 or so, I wrote him a fan poem that I posted via my AOL account. And because I am a digital pack-rat, I still have a copy of it. So. If you love The Big Bang Theory, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0094540/" target="_blank">Roseanne</a>, or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4ZzqLPvagc" target="_blank">The Opposite of Sex</a>, enjoy.<br />
<br />
Oh my god. It's creepier than I remembered. And it's long. Longer than I remembered.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Darlene! My God! What's wrong with you? You moron, are you blind?</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">A better man than David you could never hope to find!</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">This Jimmy guy is loser-lame. He'll lead you down the path</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Of cigarettes and and Nietsche, and then you'll face Roseanne's wrath.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">Johnny Galecki, Johnny Galecki, won't you be my man?</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">I'll be your Darlene if you'll be my David from Roseanne.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">I've watched him from afar, grainy and small on my TV</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">He is my TV boyfriend, even though I am thir-tee.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">I don't know why he charms me so, I just know he's the one</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Who makes my heart go pitter-pat when across the screen he runs.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">He's way smarter than Mark, and he's skinnier than Dan,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">he's older than that DJ, he's my David from Roseanne</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">I remember his first TV movie, starring ol' Roseanne,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">about a football team for women (not a single man!)</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Johnny was Roseanne's son, and he was droopy and so sad.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">My heart just broke for Johnny; he was missing his dead dad!</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">He didn't sing on Rosie O'Donnell, though I'm sure that he can:</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">He's multitalented, cuz he's my David from Roseanne!</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">Another time, he was a guy whose heart was truly good,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Though he was troubled, had bad hair, and seemed to be a hood.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">His bro (Neil Patrick Harris, who's of Doogie Howser fame),</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Did awful stuff, and tried to make poor Johnny take the blame.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">I'd tie him up and hobble him, cuz I'm his number-one fan;</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">JUST KIDDING! I'm no stalker -- I just love David from Roseanne.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">Another week, with Jennie Garth of 90210,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">He was in a hospital, cuz he'd gone plumb loco.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">They plotted their escape; alas! he didn't make it out.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">But Oh! if I had been his nurse, he'd have no need to pout!</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">Oh! The things I'd do to him, in the back of my Chevy Van:</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">I'd (censored censored censored stuff) with David from Roseanne.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">In one movie, with Judith Light, he had a reputation:</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">He played a charming murderer who died in conflagration.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">Judith's screaming histrionics hit the nail right on the head.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">I would shriek and holler too, if I thought Johnny G were dead!</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">In high school, my best friend was this girl down the street named Fran.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">I only mention this to rhyme with David from Roseanne.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">Now his star is rising; to the movies I must go.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">His career is on the big screen now, not on a weekly show.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">I'm glad for him, but sad for me: no TV boyfriend now,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">unless another show comes on that features Brian Krakow...</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;">Johnny Galecki, Johnny Galecki, won't you be my man?</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;">I'll be your Darlene if you'll be my David from Roseanne!</span></i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"></span>xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-62306442568122295622012-07-25T12:16:00.002-07:002012-07-25T12:16:30.487-07:00Forbes and Marissa MeyerHey! This is good news I should have reported last week. My <a href="http://www.learnvest.com/2012/07/new-yahoo-ceo-marissa-mayer-is-pregnant-should-you-hate-her/" target="_blank">LearnVest piece about Marissa Meyer</a> got <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/learnvest/2012/07/19/the-pregnant-ceo-should-you-hate-marissa-mayer/" target="_blank">reposted on Forbes</a> and got a huge response. More than 88,000 views and I heard from people all over the place. It got Facebooked around like a kitten picture. Horribly, Forbes also neglected to put my byline on the piece, but it does come at the end, in a little blurb, so okay. <br />
<br />
The comments were predictably depressing, but at least I was part of the conversation, and got to call her husband "hot-ass."<br />
<br />
They did edit out the part where I said Meyer is a unicorn, and we should be more worried about the horses that actually need our attention; I liked pointing out that she's so rare as to actually seem mythical, but it was a little far-fetched. <br />
<br />
I also said "we're all in this together," which is a direct reference to my darling, beloved, gorgeous Wendy Wasserstein in "<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0679734996/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0679734996&linkCode=as2&tag=wwwmadfootnet-20%22%3EThe%20Heidi%20Chronicles:%20Uncommon%20Women%20and%20Others%20&%20Isn%27t%20It%20Romantic%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=wwwmadfootnet-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0679734996%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">The Heidi Chronicles</a>." Here's the moment:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I don't blame the ladies in the locker room for how I feel. I don't blame any of us. We're all concerned, intelligent, good women. It's just that I feel stranded. And I thought the whole point was that we wouldn't feel stranded. I thought the whole point was we were all in this together. </blockquote>
It didn't fit into the piece, but those who know will hear the echo. I hope.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-85831369696774724662012-07-25T11:59:00.000-07:002012-07-25T11:59:05.812-07:00this always happens.okay, not always, but I am resisting a story because the way I pitched it now seems too simplistic (it's based on a press release, not enough THERE there, no meat, bad bad bad), but to put in the time to do it right will render it a loss (have not been able to scare up better info on the phone; will need to devote an afternoon to on-site reporting, sans kids, which negates the $ made).<br />
<br />
I hate this.<br />
<br />
Okay, back to trying to report it.<br />
<br />
<br />xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-56995092623724074662012-07-22T10:57:00.003-07:002012-07-22T10:58:59.590-07:00Know what I miss?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51yIdV4YVHL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="reporter's or reporters'? they're both correct, depending on context, dingus. " border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51yIdV4YVHL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" title="reporter's notebook" /></a></div>
Reporters' notebooks.<br />
<br />
I'm talking about <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B007EEGXLA/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B007EEGXLA&linkCode=as2&tag=wwwmadfootnet-20%22%3EReporter%27s%20Notebook,%20#%20200%20Gregg%20Ruled%20,70%20Sheets%20,4x8,%2012%20Pack%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=wwwmadfootnet-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B007EEGXLA%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">these jammies</a>. The ones I used, though, were not so crass as to announce themselves on the cover; they had the same basic, glossy cover as your average Spiral notebook, the kind you buy in a pack before each new semester of college. But the shape. 4x8 inches, tall and slim, gave me more go-get-'em-Scoops courage than ten press passes. <br />
<br />
They honestly never made much sense. I am assuming they were originally created in that shape to fit into the breast pocket (some might call it a flask pocket) of a blazer, and they don't even put those pockets in womens' blazers. (Plus: who wears women's blazers?!) I'd been carrying notebooks for years before I was a reporter, in the service of being a standup comic, and for that I just carried a tiny notepad. Granted, I was writing fewer words that wouldn't have to be transcribed or fact-checked, but still: I knew, as I strode into Staples and picked up a megapack of these guys, that this wasn't a practical act. I had like 900 Steno pads stolen from temp jobs (the ones with the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004ZKXUGW/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B004ZKXUGW&linkCode=as2&tag=wwwmadfootnet-20%22%3ETOPS%20Spiral%20Steno%20Books,%206%20x%209%20Inches,%20Gregg%20Rule,%20Greentint%20Paper,%2070%20Sheets%20per%20Book,%2012%20Books%20per%20Pack%20%288011%29%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=wwwmadfootnet-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004ZKXUGW%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">mint green paper</a> and the little red line down the middle? Swoon). <br />
<br />
(yeah, I may have a little office-supply problem. Yeah, I might.)<br />
<br />
Anyway. The point is, these were as much a part of my emotional preparation, going into a reporting situation (a Russian bath in Brooklyn, a boat to Ellis island packed with Jewish celebrities, the release of a G.I. Joe based on the standing Secretary of State), as pair of comfortable shoes, a cup of coffee, and a set of ready questions so I wouldn't be tongue-tied.<br />
<br />
Yet it was surprising to me when people saw the notebook and said "Oh, here's the reporter." I can't tell you when I realized reporters had their own style of pad; I didn't think of it as a general cultural signifier. I was in a relationship with my notebook, it wasn't for the world to see. Except it was; people recognizing it gave me an additional charge, a jolt of self-confidence.<br />
<br />
I see now there are moleskine reporters' notebooks. What. The fudge. No WAY would I carry one of those! Ah, but I don't carry the real thing anymore, either. The most important interviews, I capture on a digital recorder. When I take notes, I grab whatever half-empty notebook is handy, most often one that was given out free at a press event (read: cocktail party my friends and I took as an excuse to meet up). Or I do my interviews over the phone, so I can type my notes in garbled, but more accurate and harder to lose, format.<br />
<br />
Maybe I've gone soft. Or I've moved on to a different kind of reporting. Or both! But the sight of these little soldiers makes me feel all gooey inside. They bring to my memory the urgency of hurrying through an unfamiliar neighborhood, peering at building numbers, trying to soak up local color while staying focused on the story at hand. Jotting down possible other stories (what's that cool blue house? There's a puppet theater -- here?!) on the way.<br />
<br />
I'm not even tempted to buy a set - I don't want to dilute those memories.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-25521578775990035742012-07-10T12:57:00.005-07:002012-07-10T12:57:55.356-07:00Six Words ApproachethJeesh. My pal Jessica brought me to a very cool literary event, schmoozing with famous writers, part of the Litquake party. Actually, they were all people I've schmoozed with anyway, fancy fancy me, but I still had an amazing time. But. I also was reminded, because I kept talking about it, that Six Words is coming up THIS THURSDAY, and now I'm getting nervous.<br />
<br />
I like being nervous, but I really want to do well, so I should also rehearse. I also would love to get my hair did, but I just got the car's brakes did, and that kind of means the bank account also got did. So I didn't. Get my hair did.<br />
<br />
I did, however, write some pretty funny stuff for Recipe.com, as well as some procrastinatey comments on the Motherlode blog that I REALLY HOPE the world gets to see. It was pretty much the same as my recent post on PeeGee, but nobody sees that, so.<br />
<br />
All right. Back to work. Also I have color on my head for like an hour longer than I'm supposed to and I think it's settled in my lungs.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-49991545280631389802012-07-02T12:33:00.002-07:002012-07-02T12:33:39.724-07:00Deadlines Alive!I had a devastating series of missed deadlines a few weeks ago that I thought I'd never recover from. Clients are like boyfriends in a weird way. I mean, you have a bunch of them, so maybe they're like ... uh ... maybe I'm like a whorey ... wait. I'm-a start over.<br />
<br />
I missed a bunch of deadlines for a client I absolutely adore, and I was devastated over it. Just gutted. I hated letting them down, and worse, I feared they'd dump me, because I kind of deserved it. My writing's good, but not good enough to justify missed deadlines. I was so pissed at myself.<br />
<br />
I had tried to shift over from Google Calendars to this thing called Cozi and for some reason I didn't get it all entered right, so I didn't get the reminders I depend on. THat was the whole point of ditching Google Calendars -- sometimes their stupid reminders get borked for no reason -- so it wasn't working for me. Honestly, I think some of this was user error, but I don't use an online shared calendar because I'm a super-genius at figuring stuff out; I use it because I'm an overwhelmed multitasker who can't hold a calendar's hand.<br />
<br />
Anywho, now that I've upgraded my computer and my phone -- via the Genius Bar, for free, so easy, THANK YOU GENIUS BAR -- I can use iCloud and for the first time I'm using iCal for this crap. I figured out how to have it text me reminders, which was the whole reason I started using Google Calendars in the first place. Here's what I did:<br />
<br />
Figured out the email-to-text address for my carrier<br />
Entered that into the "email" field for the iCal alert<br />
<br />
DONE AND DONE. Actually there were <a href="http://support.apple.com/kb/HT2967" target="_blank">a few more steps</a>, but that's the gist of it, and it's beautiful.<br />
<br />
The other thing I did was, with this one client, when I submit one article, I confirm the due date of the next one. THAT has been what really helps, and I recommend it highly.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-13753279066641659252012-06-27T11:33:00.000-07:002012-06-27T11:34:05.469-07:00Blanker's BlankThere's this mythical thing called -- I can't say it. I'm too superstitious. It's my job and then the word "bee-ell-oh-see-kay." When a writer can't write, we call it this, and it's such a terrifying concept that my mind skates over it as a possibility, the same way it skates over traumatic memory or Kardashians.<br />
<br />
My husband was musing about this phenomenon the other day, then said, "But you don't believe in it, right?" I worried that I would be struck mute (well, my fingers would be) on the spot. But he's right; ever since hearing a writer, years ago, say "I disavow that term," I have used that line myself. If I feel textually constipated, I reason that the writing muscles are working beneath the surface, that my mind is working on something and will let me know when it has figured the thing out.<br />
<br />
I'm not a big one for "waiting for inspiration" or sitting still hoping the muse will strike. The solution to writer's block -- <i>ack! i said it!</i> -- is to write, even if what I'm writing is shit. "Inspiration can't find you if you're not where you said you'd meet it," I told him. "You have to at least show up."<br />
<br />
So if I can't write one thing, I write around it. I write a different assignment. I write a blog post. I write an email. I write, I write, and when I'm done writing other stuff, I come back to the thing that was giving me trouble, and see if I can tease it out.<br />
<br />
I think this is the same process -- the machinery working beneath the surface (mix that metaphor!) -- that tends to work so well in the shower. This morning I was brushing my teeth and reading my Twitter feed, which led to an article, which dovetailed with a Facebook argument that has been bothering me since yesterday, and bam. My morning deadlines are going to have to wait because if I don't offload this blog post (for RatedPeeGee), there won't be room for anything else.<br />
<br />
Let's not talk about how often my writing metaphors would work best as poop metaphors. Let's just leave that one undigested.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-77285844683166084402012-05-23T12:35:00.002-07:002012-05-23T15:19:26.085-07:00Today, right now, I do two pieces: Recipe.com one and a corporate one. I am going to do both. This despite my spending 2 hours grinding through my in-box. I also applied for yet another job.<br />
<br />
What's with recruiters suddenly being the new used car salesmen? Only used car salesmen didn't call you at home on a weekend to ask if you wanted this new car they just found. And then ask you to do all this stuff to GET the new car and then ignore you after you send them what they asked for, which took hours out of your weekend work days.<br />
<br />
Whatever.<br />
<br />
I'm putting it here and will report back when each thing is done. What are you going to work on today?<br />
I'll race you.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: Both pieces done, 3 hours later, not too bad. However, I thought one was being done a day early when, in fact, it was a day late. Editor forgives me. I love him. xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-76708386025006406882012-05-22T11:15:00.000-07:002012-05-22T11:15:31.283-07:00PrinterIt's ever-fascinating to me, the things that I will find completely necessary -- nay, urgent -- when I sit down to work. I'll spend all night fretting about an upcoming -- nay, looming -- deadline, and as I walk into my office I'll be mentally calculating how much I can get done in my allotted four hours of desk time. And somehow as my butt lowers onto my yoga ball, I magically pass into an enchanted land where the only concievable problem is that I don't have a working printer.<br />
<br />
Here are some ways I drag that out to fill my work time:<br />
- Price-comparisons at different stores<br />
- Price-comparisons within each store<br />
- Searching for and entering various coupon codes<br />
- Reading reviews<br />
- Comparing prices of ink, to see if that offsets the cheapness of the printer<br />
<br />
The funny part ... and there is a funny part ... is that I'm always just going to buy the cheapest Epson regardless of what any online review says.<br />
<br />
Did I say funny part? That's the sad part.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Once I realized that this expense would go into our new family business account, I somehow let go of the idea of doing it now and emailed the best printer to my husband, who's in charge of our bookkeeping. ooooookkkkkkkkeeeeeeee i love that word.<br />
<br />
And now? Back to work. I have the exact perfect story to work on and I just realized I was totally looking forward to it, back when my butt was up higher.<br />
<br />
Crap, I never found a place to say nay, something again just so it'd be clear I was kidding about ever saying nay, anything. Well listen, do you want me to go back and revise, or do you want me to make this deadline? I thought so. Thanks for your patience -- nay, forbearance. HAHAHA.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-43043572494074598832012-05-14T12:18:00.001-07:002012-05-14T12:20:23.040-07:00The Pause That RefreshesI Tweeted the other day that "broke is the new single." What I meant was this: when I was single, I felt shame, worry that I was a freak who would always be this way, envy that others seemed to have figured all this out, and determination that I would always, always remember what this felt like, even when I was no longer single.<br />
<br />
I kept that promise to a certain extent. Part of me is just too freakin busy, at this point, to even notice that people feel at loose ends. Yesterday was Mother's Day, and as I lovingly nuzzled my daughters' hair, noticing the difference in their smells and the way their skin feels, I didn't remember -- possibly for the first time! -- that one Mother's Day twenty-odd years ago, when I trudged down into the subway and saw a beautiful family running up and out, the mom adorable in her hippie dress, the dad slinging kids one-armed like a pro, and sunk into a slough of despond. Never mind that that family ended up divorced a few years later (Park Slope is a small town, yo) or that, you know, it just wasn't my time yet, and it wouldn't have killed me to just Enjoy Myself rather than constantly comparing my life to everyone else's. My response to seeing a happy family was worry and a pervasive sense of inferiority.<br />
<br />
Now that I really am that hippie mom (uh sorta), I don't miss a chance to feel grateful and lucky, rather than put-upon and resentful. But it's not a constant awareness. It's fading. The same way that "I will always be a smoker, even after I stop!" eventually faded. And that "I will always remember how annoying grownups are!" lost its charm when I realized how self-obsessed twelve-year-olds are. We can't stay frozen in amber. Our policies evolve along with our circumstances.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so I'm not obsessively single anymore. I'm not a smoker anymore, not even emotionally. But I retain my outsider status by being hella broke, underemployed, and resentful of my friends who do zany things like have date night or buy pants. And I want to remember always how crappy this feels so I don't make broke friends feel worse when I'm feeling better. I seem to remember an essay by Anne Lamott on this theme -- having to cut off a friend who was kvelling too much about her own good fortune. At the time, I thought she was emotionally stingy. I still would not allow myself to do such a thing -- suck it up, I tell myself, because friends are harder to make than money. But I do see how the emotional energy required to negotiate being too broke to pay every bill, every month, can be so draining, there's no energy left over for applause.<br />
<br />
Like a single person obsessing over a new potential mate, I spend so much energy hitting "refresh" on my email account that I have to force myself to actually take the steps to get new work and, you know, do the work on my plate. I'm sure that metaphor could be more elegant. But if I spend any more time on it, I won't make today's deadline. <br />
<br />
So here's my vow: Universe, give me enough work to support my family, and I'll keep my mouth shut and clap for my friends when you do the same for them. Deal?xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-62522310598485259862012-05-09T12:36:00.002-07:002012-05-09T12:36:19.034-07:00Content ProvidersFor a couple years now, I've seen tons of ads for content providers, and have watched as potential clients slip away, seduced by the siren song of free or dirt-cheap content that pays writers maybe $5-$10 per 500-word post. I know plenty of people who've gone this route on lean months. I'm not gonna name names, but you've surely seen them listed on Craigslist, and it's not like it's really any worse than that unpaid internship you took in college, right?<br />
<br />
Except we're supposed to be beyond the internship years and the desperation, for crap's sake. It seems like the longer I'm in this business, the more people expect me to work for free, for "exposure," for the sake of community or dialogue or any number of other buzz words. Blurg. <br />
<br />
Thank goodness, some responsible content providers are entering the market now. Staffed by seasoned journalists, they don't take writers for granted -- and the gigs are fun, interesting, and pretty easy. I'm happy to outsource the search for clients and feel lucky to be on board. And the pay's not bad. So that's this week's adventure: new client, new delivery system. Fun fun.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-52561029861335474242012-04-02T16:47:00.002-07:002012-04-02T16:47:42.966-07:00Six Words On Jewish LifeHo ho! I'm a super hipster! You're probably familar with Smith Magazine's Six-Word Memoirs. Recently they asked for six-word roundups of people's <a href="http://www.smithmag.net/jewish" target="_blank">Jewish identity</a>. I submitted several, probably because I was on deadline at the time (see the blog's title). I have no idea which one(s) they have decided to include in their latest book, "<a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/invited/2463647/50b1d6105715dcd1912f9f3355cacaa14074b8d8" target="_blank">Six-Word Memoirs On Jewish Life</a>," but include they did, according to an email I just opened. <br />
<br />
You should totally buy it, but mine would be one (or more!) of these: <br />
<br />
I'm not yelling! This is talking!<br />Don't let the surname fool you.<br />Half Jewish, half Armenian: All survivor.<br />I believe in G-d! Sort of.<br />
<br />
Which one do you think they liked? Which one do YOU like? I think the first one is my personal fave. Anyway, it's not exactly a byline, but I love it.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-24250813063535121592012-03-19T10:13:00.001-07:002012-03-19T10:13:50.305-07:00Will Blog For ClothesMy latest client is an amazing clothing designer, my total favorite. They love my writing and are patient with my overzealous wordiness, probably because their editorial director is also from magazines. It's a great feeling.<br />
<br />
Not such a great feeling is when there's a last-minute correction that I need to do ... and I'm spending the morning doing my shift at my daughter's co-op. This happened Friday, and it felt awful. I'm careful not to look at my phone during that shift, because the teachers understandably want us to focus on the kids, and I, for one, can easily spend the whole time playing dodge-child, whapping their heads away with my left hand while scrolling through my Twitter feed with the right. Plus, Friday was just a clusterschtup, with all of us awakened by my phone's alarm telling us it was time to leave the house. Followed immediately by Penny sobbing that she didn't want to go to school and needed me by her side AT ALL TIMES. Oy. By lunchtime, the morning teacher was ready to throttle me, the other working parents, and probably the kids as well, and I can't blame her. And the whole time, my client was waiting for a response. Master of none!<br />
<br />
SO it's Monday, and fiddle dee dee, today is another day. Time to make up some work, and create some good will for the next clusterschmuck.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-45305432480640634352012-01-26T10:09:00.001-08:002012-01-26T10:09:17.192-08:00More time to write...Well, I guess the good news is that I no longer will have to cram my writing time into the early mornings, but the bad news is that Husband is laid off again. I'm going to focus on the first half of that sentence. Of course, as I said to him, I am unwilling to cede much of my time with the girls -- though it's been horribly frustrating, trying to find time to get work done, it's also been glorious to be with them so much. Such is the back-and-forth pull of the working mom. Anywho. Look for a lot more bylines in the coming weeks.<br />
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The BIMI column is too, too much fun. The great thing about having an editor who loves me is that since I know what she likes, I have a great time hiding little bon mots that I know will make her snicker. Has to make it better for the reader, too. Hope so, anyway. Go there and comment so she knows she's not the only loller!xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-84686411413374869632012-01-14T18:02:00.006-08:002012-01-14T18:03:12.003-08:00My new column!I'm a columnist! Watch for me every 2 weeks at Recipe.com, where I'll be doing a regular feature called "Buy It Or Make It." Too awesome. The first ten are set, and they're things I've already made. Woo!xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-42502037581652081832011-12-10T23:05:00.001-08:002011-12-10T23:11:51.994-08:00I'm a blurber, too.Oh, this is cool. Back when I wrote for AOL/Lemondrop, I <a href="http://www.lemondrop.com/2010/07/28/proof-were-not-monogamous-we-grill-the-author-of-sex-at-dawn/?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter" target="_blank">interviewed</a> the author of Sex At Dawn, an amazing book about monogamy, fidelity, and bonobo apes that you really must read. And he blurbed me! Or I blurbed him. <a href="http://www.sexatdawn.com/page21/page21.html" target="_blank">I'm in his blurbs</a>. We're blurbing. Someone who works at CafeMom alerted me to this because she'd just finished the book and wanted to discuss it in depth. How cool! Also: I need a book group. <br />
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But mostly, I'm so flattered, and I so miss writing for AOL. Those were really fun stories. Well, that just means I should pitch some more. So off I go.<br />
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It's Saturday night, by the way. Husband and I are sitting with our laptops facing each other, both working. It's a huge relief to be catching up, but now I have to forge ahead. Yep, big night in for mommy and daddy. <br />
<br />xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-77238368635522578072011-11-15T09:14:00.001-08:002011-11-15T09:25:03.747-08:00I'm becoming a commenter!This isn't a byline, but I'm acting like it is -- I wrote a Letter to the Editor of the NYT Magazine, and <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/13/magazine/reply-all-lynda-barry.html" target="_blank">it got printed</a>! I sent it in via email and thought nothing of it, since I thought they called to confirm before printing anything, but a friend posted it on my Facebook wall on Saturday. I'm pleased as punch!<br />
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I'll admit that I almost said "kittens" instead of "marshmallow Peeps" as a nod to Zooey Deschanel, but thought I would be the only one who noticed.<br />
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In the olden days, I used to listen to my then-local daytime NPR shows (Brian Lehrer and Leonard Lopate) in lieu of chatting with office mates. It's an old freelancer trick. And when the loneliness (and need to procrastinate) got to be too much to bear, I would call in and lend them my thoughtful thinky thoughts on whatever they were talking about that day. I did this so often that my friend Cindy would tune in while dropping off her kids just to see if I was on that day. I'd call in, yap, then watch my email to see if she was listening. (Freelancing is very, very lonely, people.)<br />
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I've called in to the local shows here, too, but it's not as satisfying. But since my friend KJ has been writing for <a href="http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/" target="_blank">Motherlode</a> at the NYT, I've been commenting like crazy on her posts. Lucky for you (and my pride) that i can't link directly to them. Go on over to Motherlode and read and comment for yourself, and see if you can spot me there.<br />
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Meanwhile, back to work. Actually, I'll have to work later -- I have an interview today with a really terrific kids' clothing company that needs a copywriter. If they pay me in pinafores, I'M IN! <br />
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<br />xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8018939.post-30366946429205118172011-11-12T10:07:00.001-08:002011-11-12T10:16:39.318-08:00Deeper PitchesThis week was much improved. I've been hitting deadlines and getting promising responses to better-paying pitches, and had a terrific tryout for a new copywriting client. Oh, and another client -- a startup -- was just "acquired," and I'm being called in to discuss the new playing field (and pay scale) with the new owners.<br />
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But daily blogging v. reporting an article are two different skills. Back at home, I would bounce back and forth, every few years, between writing and editing, and it was always a relief no matter which way I went. Change is refreshing! It's harder now, though. I don't know if my brain has atrophied like my hamstrings, or if these two skills are farther apart, but it feels like more of a challenge to shift from "poop out this blog post NOW!" to "Do several layers of research, work up a deeper pitch, get approved, and then put the rest of the research you already did into the article. Then revise it."<br />
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Wait, it is more of a challenge. That's why it's better to read ... and why it pays more. RIGHT. News flash to Arianna Huffington: you get what you pay for.<br />
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Okay, off to do some actual research. Oy, my brain-hamstrings.xoxoalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12777972740112422472noreply@blogger.com0