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Writing

Catch and Release

This is an admittedly bizarre title choice for someone who once bawled her head off when taken on a fishing trip as a child (early indication of a future vegetarian). But the words came to me the other day when I realized that – as much as I like to think I’m a “go with the flow” kind of gal – I’m still prone to giving in to the temptation to put my dreams in a headlock and wrestle them down the path I’m oh-so-sure is the best one.

Of course, the wiser part of me knows this is a recipe for disaster (or at least disappointment). But sometimes the id screams like a toddler being forcibly removed from the toy aisle and the hubris of me insisting on doing things my way prevails. Continue Reading

Radio Silence

So…what to say about why I haven’t posted in a few months?  I could point to everything from family drama that ended with a relative in rehab to the standard-issue workload that comes with adulting. Maybe throw in toiling over a final edit on my novel and some good old-fashioned writer’s block to make it an airtight case.

But while all of the above events may be true, they’re still excuses. And if I championed them, I’d be creating an absurd rationale for why I’m not doing the one thing that makes me feel the most alive: putting words on a page.

So, why do we go silent on our life’s passions? Continue Reading

Peers and Pedestals

“We are all peers in the human experience.” – Maru Iabichela

We’re all made of the same basic building blocks. We all eat, drink, work, sleep…lather, rinse, repeat every 24 hours. The Constitution even confirms that we’re all created equal.

But somehow, we just don’t get that “all” includes us, too.
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A Blessed Unrest

“No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a strange, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” – Martha Graham

You may not be redefining the world of dance like Martha did (my own musically-induced gyrations have prompted people to ask if they should call 911), but there is a bit of habitual dissatisfaction in all of us.

And I think it’s awesome.

But I didn’t always feel that way.

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Handling the Haters

When I was a kid, I thought being famous had to be the best job in the world: everyone taking your picture, clamoring for your autograph and hanging on your every word. Never a moment of insecurity or doubt about your self-worth or inherent awesomeness.

I remember my last night as a grade-schooler, unable to sleep as I pondered my upcoming first day on the big bad junior high campus. Instead of the same familiar pack of munchkins I’d been running with since kindergarten, I’d now be forced to meet an entire legion of new students.

And I was terrified.

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The Fault In Our Feelings

“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

– Christopher Robin to Winnie The Pooh

As I kid, I loved the tales of a potbellied bear and his posse that included a tiny pig, a grumpy donkey and a boy who adored him.  His innocence made me smile, and I could definitely relate to his insatiable sweet tooth (honey for him, anything chocolate for me).

But as an adult, I realize that the stories aren’t just cute, they are full of wisdom and comfort…two things I could certainly use right now.

Which is why I’m writing this today.

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Bigger Than Your Body

“I’m only human.”

I used to say that all the time. Usually when I was failing miserably at something and wanted to deflect any suggestion that I should step up my game.

“I can’t write a book. I’m too busy. “
“I can’t create a website. Technology hates me.”
“How am I supposed to eat a salad when a perfectly good pan of brownies is in grave danger of going stale?”

I’m only human.

But while those three little words provided me with a handy-dandy hall pass for avoidance, it always felt wrong. Like I was using my status as a mere mortal as an excuse to not rise higher.  To achieve all that I knew I was capable of.

So, what’s wrong with declaring yourself to be human?
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Is Time On Your Side?

“You can make more money, but you can’t make more time.”

I’m not sure who originated that quote, but I’d always accepted it as true. After all, there are lots of ways to create more cash.

Invent something the world  can’t live without.

Find a better job.

Have a garage sale.

Beg, borrow or steal (not highly recommended unless you want to stand on a street corner, pay interest or get arrested).

But there can’t possibly be a way to make more time, right?

Wrong. Continue Reading

To Reflect And To Serve

When I left my last corporate job almost six years ago, I thought I had the trajectory of my writing career all figured out. I had dreamed of making films since college, so that was first on the list (to date, I’ve been fortunate to have written and produced two: Anniversary and Waiting For Goodbye). But beyond that, I figured I was destined to be a full-time freelancer. After all, what other option was there for a cube farm refugee with a knack for words?

I got a decent amount of work straight out of the gate. And that was partly due to the fact that I was so elated to no longer be starring in my own personal revival of Office Space, I would write about anyone or anything.  From executive officer profiles and Facebook campaigns to video scripts for spray tan gadgets and robotic surgery, I took everything that came my way.

But after some time, I started to feel that something wasn’t right.
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An “ODD” Way to Defeat Procrastination

As a writer, I’m always looking for ways to improve my craft. Tell better stories. Write more engaging posts. Develop films that truly move people.

But the fact is, it’s hard to improve your writing when you aren’t actually doing it.

So, the other thing I’m always looking for are surefire tips on how to get my ass moving when everything but the keyboard is calling for my attention.

And thanks to blogger Ali Luke’s wise words, I have found a method that works for me every time I use it.

It’s hugely scientific. You may want to take notes.

Ready?  Here goes… Continue Reading