The Writing Guru

When I began my new job I expected to be like most entry level workers and spend the majority of my time learning. But like most things in my life, it didn't go as expected.

As it turns out, I am the new writing guru of the office. I feel as though my purpose is to spread the joy of proper punctuation, syntax and grammar. Be prepared office mates, I'm a bit of a writing nazi.

I have plenty to learn, that is no question, but I'm also well equipped to teach. I love commas, despise improper capitalization and loath ill placed and elongated ellipses. An ellipses is three periods people, that's it, not seven, not thirteen - just three.

As a side note, I will fully appreciate the irony if I have actualized any of my own pet peeves in this post. I can take a joke............

Life Lessons from Jack Johnson

Many things make me happy - shoes, dinner parties, post-its, scented candles, home decor, jacked up trucks and holding a gun. But as of late, the one solitary thing that gives me the greatest joy is the Jack Johnson station on Pandora.

I used to let television rape my brain every night from approximately 10:30-midnight. Now I curl up in my favorite chair, light a deliciously scented candle and turn on the music. The mix of music that streams through my speakers ranges from Jack Johnson and Donovan Frankenreiter to Coldplay and Bob Marley. I know, the ultimate relaxation mix - perfect for a little self-reflection.

Over the course of the last four or five months I've really come into my own and become comfortable with who I am. I've made hard decisions like cutting off all communication with my abusive ex-boyfriend and picking out new curtains for my living room. I've pushed my limits mentally and physically by working multiple internships while going to graduate school full-time, although currently I'm only working one full-time job (reference previous post).

For better or worse, these past few months have been about me.

The hardest part about recovering from an abusive relationship is realizing who you are outside of that person. I had to come to terms with the fact that two things are now true. One, I have significantly higher standards for the type of person I allow in my life, and two, I no longer let myself settle for less than perfect.

For all you buff, single, emotionally-available hunks reading this blog, have no fear, I don't mean traditional perfection (i.e. flawless). I just mean someone that fits my personality and vice versa.

I've come a long way, much further than many people would realize I needed to come. And to celebrate this occasion, I plan to enjoy my new job, my incredibly satisfying relationship with Jack Johnson and this large teaspoon of cough syrup, which will hopefully rid me of this ridiculous cold.

Creativity 2.0

Sunday evening I came down with a terrible sore throat. Monday morning I woke to an additional fever and congested nose - clear signs this was not going to be a good work week.

After my job interview (see previous post) I had to throw in the towel and head to the pharmacy. And yes, I rocked my job interview with a feverish sweat and a voice that was barely audible. How? I have no idea. I digress.

My trusty best friend, who is conveniently a pharmacy student, recommended the Sudafed in a red box that they keep behind the counter. I am forever grateful to her. Not only for its healing powers, but for its ability to unlock my creativity.

Having neglected the fact that I had taken Sudafed, I settled onto my couch to get some work done now that I wasn't risking the health of my entire office. Thirty minutes later I was incredibly frustrated with the state of the brochure I was working on - my first project for my new job.

Forty-five minutes later the Sudafed kicked in. Suddenly feeling relaxed and quite loopy, I kicked that brochure's ass. It was some of my best work. So that got me thinking - perhaps all the other artists are right, maybe drugs do unlock your mind.

I'm such an incredibly structured person that it is hard for me to be creative. But you better believe that with a glass of wine in my system, or a dose of Sudafed apparently, my structure falls by the wayside and my inner artist takes over.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not going to start doing recreational drugs just to achieve optimal work, but I will be utilizing the power of a glass of wine.

The American Heart Association recognizes the goodness of wine for heart health and now I will be recognizing the goodness of wine for my creative health.

The First Real One

Fair readers it has finally happened. I will finally have a job title that does not include the word 'intern'. I know - I never thought it would happen either!

Being offered this position as a graphic designer (and writer/photographer), above hundreds of other applicants with much more graphic design experience, has made me reflect on how strange my working career has been thus far and how it really is about who you know.

When I was in undergrad I was sure that I would go into the medical field. When I couldn't find a job that maintained my attention for more than a day, I changed the communication arts major. The beauty of being a writer, particularly a feature writer, is that I never quit learning. It's like combining fifty jobs into one, because you know a little bit about everything around you.

Then on a whim, one of my favorite professors recommended me for a position as a communications intern. It was supposed to just be for a semester. I stayed two years. That experience solidified my passion for communications and for working with rich, old people.

But if I've accepted one thing about myself it is that I can be a bit flighty, even if only in my mind. So for some reason I got too comfortable with my writing and had to shake things up. Upon graduation, I decided that going to graduate school for photography sounded fun, so I did.

Two days after that experience began, I realized my mistake. 10 weeks later I jumped ship (thank God) and transferred to the graduate writing program, which was the obvious place for me to be.

I hadn't been in the program but maybe three weeks when an internship with a local magazine came available. Apparently first year students aren't supposed to do internships. Well, rules are made for breaking. I applied and got the internship.

Simultaneously I found an internship on Craiglist.com that I also applied for and got. What's a girl to do? Accept both of course. A little hard work never hurt anyone. As it turns out, the magazine internship was a disaster, but the Craigslist internship led me to this present celebration of my first real job, benefits and all.

It's a good day friends, just ask my brother-in-law. He is ecstatic that I won't be mooching off him anymore. You're welcome, Michael.

Sometimes It's Just Time

When Eric Church's new album, Chief, hit the airwaves I knew it was going to be my new obsession.  Per usual, I was correct. And given my previous confessions on the subject, you, fair readers, are aware that my obsessions are no joke.

While the entire album is repeat worthy, there is one song, "Springsteen," that has taken a particularly strong hold on my heart.

I'm not sure what it is about this song, but it causes a very strong feeling of nostalgia. For some reason I can't quite figure out the source of my nostalgia. After much thought (and wine, of course) I think I've come to the conclusion that maybe I'm missing something I never had.

I was the type of person who could never find their place in high school, in the teenage persona. I've always been told that I have an old soul and that was true then as well. So I spent my mid to late teen years trying to be older than I was.

I worked multiple jobs, dated college-age guys (or older) and graduated high school a semester early. I was so ready to be an adult that I never allowed myself to be a child. I think that's why the song hits me so hard.

"Springsteen" personifies the experience of young love and the power of a carefree teenage existence.

After two years spent in an emotionally draining "adult" relationship I have realized how much I missed out on. I'm always mentally five years ahead of where I should be socially. I know it sounds crazy, but this song has helped me see the changes I need to make before I lose all chance to enjoy my youthful years.

Thank you Eric Church. I also enjoy your song "Drink In My Hand." With my recent revelations safely in my back pocket, I think that song might be my new life mantra.

Not really. But it's still a rockin' good song.

Jumping Off A Mountain

I think I'd like to jump off a cliff.

Well, technically I would run quickly, without tripping, down a hillside on the top of a mountain and then jump, but who bothers with technicalities?

I'm talking about paragliding people, the greatest sport you've never heard of. Actually, the rest of the world is well acquainted with it, but that's beside the point.

My father, a retired hang glider (similar to paragliding), has begun to assimilate me into the flying culture and I'm already hooked. My next feat will be to actually do it.

So why, you may ask, would I want to jump off a mountain intentionally? Great question. It's because of two things my father told me. The first thing he told me was that it is incredibly quiet when you're in the air. The second thing he told was that flights can last anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours.

Hmm.. very interesting. As a writer and a person with a busy life, the thought of being able to escape somewhere for 30 minutes-2 hours, a place where people truly couldn't bother you, and just think is the most amazing idea ever. I can't believe I didn't think of it before.

Need peace and quiet? Just go fly your personal aircraft for a few hours. As a side note, paragliders are also supposed to be very comfy. You just essentially recline into a backpack-like harness. Sounds nice.

So yes, I think I have decided that jumping off a cliff is the only way I will be able to get peace and quiet to sort out all the writerly things in my mind.

Wish me luck fair readers.

Does a Writer Write?

This afternoon I had an incredible workout. Well, minus almost getting hit by a car (totally my fault) I had an incredible workout. Apparently, I lack the perception needed to safely run in downtown.

When I finished my workout, I sat on the floor of my apartment, muscles aching, short of breath, decently sure I would die due to lack of lung capacity and I suddenly felt really proud.

I had physically pushed my body past its predetermined limits, but it didn't seem like that should be a feat. I spent 2 years mentally pushing myself way beyond my limits. And I survived... I think.

So why am I shying away from my writing? I spend 8.5 hours a day (well 7.5 if you count lunch) writing about marketing hoopla. I come home at night and spend time blogging about all the nonsensical mess floating around in my head. Why can't I make myself practice writing?

I'm so green in the art of creative writing (memoir, personal essay and fiction specifically) that I should be writing constantly. Yet I focus all of my creative energy on writing for monetary profit and mental release. I should be focusing my energy on perfecting my craft.

I'm paying $30,000 a year to do just that, so why not milk every cent? Why not use this summer to create a stockpile of work, good, bad and ugly, so that when the school year begins, as it inevitably will, I have something to show for myself?

Guess it would have been helpful to have this discussion a couple months ago, right? Life lesson learned.