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November 15, 2009

All is Fair in Love and HTML: Does blogging make you a writer?

At first glance, it seems the internet levels the writing playing field. The predictions: With a click of a button, equal access is born.

Readers can connect (follow, update, tweet) with writers, editors, publishers, agents; query letters are replaced by blogs; intent is replaced by content; publishing is replaced by self-publishing.

All is fair in html.

Or is it?

I agree, anyone can write, publish, print, blog. If you have something to say, there is someone who wants to read it.

And if you are willing to write for free, well you are willing to be read for free. If you love to write and write for the sake of writing, the internet is an spiritual goldmine.

Pop up any Craig’s List Writer’s Wanted Ad in most major cities and you will open a link to the unpaid writing opportunity of a LIFETIME. Editors and publishers are eager to read and publish your free content to promote you on their soon-to-be discovered site.

But, for free I can write on the topic of my choice and publish it on my own yet-to-be discovered blog.

And, I do.

Still, I write, submit and wait to be published in traditional media as well.

It’s my marker, how I define my success. Blogging provides me the freedom to write what I want to write, to take responsibility for my words and to publish them anyway. As someone who endeavors to be paid for what I write, submitting and publishing is validation and more.

While it's certainly not this cut and dry, if I write for nothing, I get nothing. If I write with intent to publish, I get read.

So, does blogging make you a writer?

Writing makes you a writer; blogging makes you a blogger.

Maybe the difference is intent. Maybe the difference is content. And maybe, there isn't a difference at all.

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November 13, 2009

My Future Awaits

I am a Libra.

Today, as I have for the past I don’t know how many days before it, I clicked on my horoscope in partial anticipation, dread, amusement, curiosity as to what the cosmos (or the horoscope writer) had in store for me.

My horoscopes do not dictate my day.

Some days they are accurate, other days close, some days completely far off. Today, it was empty.

The day is waiting for me to write it.

I choose to have a day filled with passion, success and laughter. I decide to have a day with adventure and good news. Today’s forecast: something good is about to happen, you will smile often, laugh loudly; and love and be loved completely

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October 27, 2009

Diary of a Reluctant Freelance Writer

To be general, I love writing. To be specific, I love certain types of writing.

What interests me as a writer is the psychology of characters--I am intrigued by motivations, actions, dialogue and how these components intertwine to determine character reaction, character relationships: character.

While I say I want to write for a living; I mean I want to make a living as a writer. I picture a published writer, an award or two, an abundance of time and writing what I want, fiction and nonfiction that explores the depths of my characters.

In pursuit of my dreams, I find myself accepting freelance projects to--you know--feed the kids. The projects I accept are typically things that intrigue me: branding deals with the relationship between words, the expectation of dialogue and action. I accept editing projects, write ad copy, perform voice overs.

Recently I was offered two projects: One I could not afford to take, and one I could not afford to turn down.

These are the lessons I've learned from them:

1. Outline (verbally) the expectations and scope of the project.
2. Reiterate (in writing) the expectations and scope of the project
3. Provide realistic timelines and cost estimates
4. Be clear about payment terms—methods and time frame
5. Project specific contract signed by both parties
6. Check in half-way providing status: progress, hours put in, cost estimate, sample and estimated project conclusion.
7. Ask fellow freelancers for advice
8. Choose projects with discretion: not every project is the project for me.
9. Price based on realistic, inform estimate of time and resources it will take.
10. Be selective: Not every project is the one for me.

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September 06, 2009

The Love I Believe In

The love I believe in ebbs and flows but mostly ebbs and flows.

It is reciprocal, enduring, circular--selfless times 2.

The love I believe in is give or take but mainly give and take.

It is not...

I love you but...

I love you and...

I love you or...

It is not joined by conjunctions; limited by qualifiers.

The love I believe in is enough without enough.

It does not hurt, deny, starve.

It is not prescribed, given in doses, taken in abundance, substitution for addiction.

The love I believe in is everything or nothing but mostly everything and nothing.

It is tangible, attainable, reciprocal.

The love I believe in, is enough.

Until, it is not.

And still I believe.

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June 25, 2009

Chicago AWP

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June 19, 2009

Addicted to Now

Several times a day I pick up the pen, well poise at the keyboard, to write something for tomorrow.

As a journalist, I write with a sense of immediacy. As a writer, I write with a sense of timelessness. Writing forward takes practice, patience and more practice and more patience.

And so, I’m training myself to write and curbing my addiction to instant gratification somewhat disguised behind two blogs, a Facebook, LinkedIn, and a Twitter. I’m writing pieces for tomorrow. At least, I try to. I find myself writing with the best of intentions and instead of saving it, I post it and link it and tweet about posting and linking it.

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May 24, 2009

May 24, 2009

Over the years I have lived in homes with cable television, yet I have never subscribed to cable service. It seems a luxury—a frivolous one—that suggests I spend far too much time at home and dependent on a box for entertainment than I actually do, or am.

For years, I have avoided committing to cable.

My job has cable and while I enjoy CNN, I enjoy it much better when the television is not frozen, when I can't see the reporters' mouths moving out of sync with their words, or when I don't see boxes of digitally enhanced flesh, background and noise scrambling to formulate a picture. In a few weeks, I will be forced to make a commitment to a service I do not want and that I am not certain is at all committed to me.

I have not missed cable television, though legislation pushing for the digital switch suggests that cable has missed me.

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May 12, 2009

May 12, 2009

As I sit here reading my Twitter response to the ethics of flirting for business, I am momentarily stunned as I realize I have posted my ethics for the entire world to see.

Momentarily because “the entire world” reflects my 482, followers who I can at any time pretend are 482 readers (translation fans).

Perhaps, I should be embarrassed to admit that my ethics on such things as sales, prospects and clients is evocatively evasive. My reasons for not indulging in business flirtations are more personal than professional: I do not want to deal with someone I flirted with just to get a sale in any other capacity once the sale is made.

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April 10, 2009

Friday, July 04, 2008

Another publication has slivered in to oblivion, tucked its thin, shiny pages and high-tech, glossy covers between its trembling bold-fonted legs, and kissed its ISBN number goodbye. 
 
To be honest, though I have seen at least one issue of Woman's Scope Magazine--the issue its publisher left in our office bearing my name (though I had never written anything for her) as a contributing writer.  I have never read it, nor visited the website, looked for it in a venue, or considered writing an article, letter or post to it.
 
The structure of publishing as an industry is crumbling, seemingly by choice.  When I spoke with Woman's Scope's publisher Janet Leak, she was enthusiastic about the corners her magazine would turn if it could only make it through this rough patch which to her reflected the next three months and to me reflected the past twelve. I asked if she had a blog (I had assumed she had a website) and she didn't.  Since we had spent a class discussing the benefits of blogging, I felt confident suggesting she allow her underpaid staff of writers the opportunity to blog using their articles as jumping points.  It was an opportunity to extend the conversations their articles had generated and ideally an opportunity to use some of the research that was now cluttering their cyber waste baskets to foster a sense of readership and networking. She agreed, it would give her writers the exposure they needed to start build their careers. 
 
She quickly scribbled my notes and suggestions, asking questions that made me wonder at her cyberbility.  Excitedly, she agreed, it would give her writers the exposure they needed to build their careers.  The idea, the entire concept seemed completely new. Perhaps that's when I began to worry about the scope of her endeavor. 
 
Less than one month later her magazine folded, at least in print.
 
This could be an exciting time for her, a time of blogs and chats, of timely articles, interactive pieces and reader led (moderated) interviews.  She could take her publication beyond the mortality of ink. But, she will only do that if someone, ideally a stable of underpaid, hungry writers, drags her by the wireless carrier of her choice in to the 21st century.
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Friday, June 27, 2008

At what point do we realize we have everything we want? 

I have today, everything of value I have ever asked for, I’m a mother, I have healthy children,  I’m a writer, I own a home, a car, I have a good job.  What’s next?  It’s time to revamp my goals, to add some maturity and depth to them: re-envisioning the American Dream…
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Thursday, June 26, 2008

People of otherwise good intentions.


People seem to underestimate the depths of shallowness to which I have sunk.  Despite my confessions they insist on introducing me to men they claim to consider friends. 

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Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Navigating long distance relationships, okay so I’m not an expert…As much as I love Sex in the City, we don’t need another one.  Do we really need to know what another 30something year old mom is really thinking?  I’d have to say yes.  Intimacy, honesty, opinion they have their place perhaps the distance is disturbing (or only to me) but it is important to know this journey is a shared experience.  Honestly, everyone wants the same things out of life, we are just jaded enough to think we are that unique.  Animals are creatures of habit, why do we keep forgetting that?


Wielded today in syrupy doses meant to cleanse the pallets of adulterers, evaders and otherwise indistinguishable ‘ers.’ 

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February 7, 2009

Dear Diary,

I spent today sorting out possibilities. Now that I’ve finished my last class, I don’t know what to do with all of the time I have without a deadline. I am so used to handling competing deadlines that I now have to create things to do. This should not be too hard seeing as now I have the pleasure of justifying my degree.

Today I should be writing and submitting something to a publication. But, I have some pieces from my thesis (that always sounds so juvenile) out to editors and I need to see how they fare before sending them to other publications. It seems self defeating to assume they are rejected and so, I wait.

I have researched numerous publications and there are many I would be honored to publish in, to those I look forward to submitting. There is a thread in that which I read that suggests I should be happy to publish anywhere and endeavor to write my way up the publication tier one rung at a time. And yet, I cannot start out with lowered expectations and call myself a writer.
Can I really submit something to a publication I would never read?

While I wait I look for traditional jobs, freelance jobs and writing opportunities in my spare time –when I am not being a mom, working full time or otherwise engaged.

I used to say, I just want to write. But, after reading job descriptions, posts and calls for submissions, I realize that is not at all true. I want to write what I want to write. I want to write psychological articles exploring character motivation and development; short stories succinctly dissecting relationships, features inspiring people to act, explore, question. I want to write things that matter to me. Advocating for the underrepresented population: children, minorities, whoever; getting information to people who best need it and who are then empowered by it; affecting change, those are the sort of pieces I want to write.

So, to revise that: I want to write something I would be proud to have published.

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July 10, 2008

Slowing down our morning routine of rushing to the car, rushing to day care and rushing to work, my son and I slowed down to blow bubbles, and stop for donuts and coffee. The parking lot of 7-11 is typically a nightmare I ignore from my vantage point of the main street. Cars etch their way out hoping a motorist will take pity on them and let them out. Some days I do, some days I don’t. Today we eased in to a parking spot, I slid on his shoes and my 3 year old grabbed my hand chattering about his soon-to-come sugar dripping treat. Noah decided on a cinnamon coated donut. Picturing myself vacuuming brown sugar from my cloth interior weeks later, he ended up with a glazed donut.

“You have a beautiful mother,” a man in summer clothes, something noticed from my peripheral vision as I bent to hear Noah’s question.

“Mommy, did you hear what the scary monster said?” He asked, in his clear, concerned three-year old voice.

I have three children and yet I am always surprised by the things they manage to say that surprise me. I could ignore the question, and Noah fearing my loss of hearing, would say, repeat his question in his outside voice. So, I acknowledged it, without laughing, and said, “Yes, I heard what he said.”

Most days I would turn to the offended person and give a weak smile, a feeble look, a reassurance, he is a child after all, the look would say. But today I ignored the man. How rude, I had thought when the man spoke to my son. Perhaps manners are the things knights are made of

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June 29

What happens when we stop pursuing our dreams?

The rink was filled with older people, ok old people gliding in a fog of nostalgia and memory. One man spins, in faded-blue denim jeans and baseball cap, tongue sticking out nearly touching his nose or in some other gesture that matches the grin, the lopsided, pleased grin stretching his face in to a mask of history. He spins in a uniquely feminine manner, hands on hips, bones poking outwards, knees bent (or appearing to be) twirling in what would be graceful arcs, if they were.

Another man, in baby blue jeans and short sleeve shirts, unremarkable save his Leif Erickson (or what’s his name, the curly-haired, cutie from the 70s). Time is gliding, pointed, pointedly around the ice in long arms, long legs and fine scissor glides. It is wound in mounds of unruly curls, springy and wound loosely on the head of an aging skater.

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