The United States of Sway

The State of the Art

I'm working on an article about my recent trip to Florence. It's due Aug. 19 and will be for a business and travel publication. As with any time I have massive amounts of information to cram into a single travel article, I sometimes doubt that I'll be able to do the locale justice. I think I did manage to take some good photos, though, and hopefully, after I decide which ones I'm going to submit for printing, I'll know which ones I can post here, too.

As far as my day-to-day work goes, I'm still finding it frustrating that companies can misplace my invoices, or they might get buried in my editor's inbox, etc. And because it takes most magazines at least 30 days to pay freelancers, I can't know that the invoice has been misplaced or skipped until 30 days passes. Then by the time I let the finance department know and they rectify the mistake and cut me the check, two months may have passed. The result is an earnings spreadsheet with lots of red boxes representing thousands of outstanding dollars. Completely annoying.

On another writing front, I've legitimately given myself an ultimatum. (Can you say something is an ultimatum even if there aren't really any negative consequences?) I've told myself I have to finish my novel by my 30th birthday. I turned 27 in May, so I feel like three years should be a reasonable amount of time to accomplish this. I've had an idea brewing since 2006. I was working at a law firm in downtown Phoenix and some scenes and characters came to me. I started scribbling down some notes, and ever since then, these characters have not left my mind. And for the past half decade, I've lived with them in my head, and their story has developed more and more, and I know that it's time for me to just get it out and down on paper. The problem is, I often have a hard time justifying to myself time spent on "investment work" rather than work that's going to immediately pay the bills. Which is a lame excuse. Last year I did National Novel Writing Month and got a good start on it -- so I know what I'm capable of if I just make the stinking time.

From now on, Fridays are for fiction. Monday through Thursday I'm going to work hard to fulfill my other work obligations, and then no excuses, Fridays I'm going to sit my butt down and try to write as much as I can. Even if none of it's good. Even if none of it will be ultimately usable. I just have to get it all out and down on paper. Wish me luck with that.

The State of the Household

My boyfriend left yesterday morning for a week-long vacation with his family, so it's going to be very quiet around here. Usually I get pretty lonely whenever he's gone this long, but I honestly have so much to do and think about this week, that the time will probably just zip by. For starters, I need to crank out that travel article mentioned above, plus working ahead on other upcoming to-do's wouldn't hurt at all. And if I can get all of that to a good place by next Friday, then I won't even have to feel bad about taking Friday and Saturday to work on my fiction project.

Not to mention, I need to clean the house. With me being gone on my own week-long vacation just a few weeks ago, plus with both of us having been so busy with work and other projects these last couple of weeks, the condo is in major need of being put back together. And not to say my boyfriend is messy, but ... let's just say it will be easier for me to reclaim our living space with him gone for a week.

Plus, there are books I want to read, movies I want to watch, bubble baths I want to take, and non-boyfriend-friendly meals I want to cook. I don't know how much, if any, of these things will really happen in the next seven days, but hey, a girl can dream, right? 

The State of the Extracurricular Activities

Also, this week is my first working week as an instructor at that fitness studio I mentioned in a previous post. I have been training my fanny off the past 12 weeks, and then this past week just about did me in. I've been at the studio every single day for several hours at a time, and yesterday I was there from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. going over everything all over again. "What?" you ask. "What kind of fitness instructing requires that much intense studying?" This is one of those barre workouts -- a mix of yoga, pilates and ballet barre work. It got me into the best shape of my life and became so fun and addicting that I knew I wanted to become an instructor. Little did I know how much each instructor actually puts into teaching one of these 60-minute classes, though! As in instructor, you're leading a class through a routine, so you're talking the entire hour, giving them cues for each exercise, plus walking around and giving them individualized and positive corrective feedback. The entire time. You have to have the flow of all the exercises memorized, plus you have to stay on the beat and change the music where appropriate. If you see that most of the people in your class are having a hard time with the exercise you've set them up in, then you need to change it on the fly to something a little easier yet still challenging ... The whole thing is a blend of certain material that is etched in stone, and other material that the instructors have to improvise as they go. Plus, you have to make sure that you don't go over 60 minutes, or under 60 minutes.

I can't remember the last time I had to speak in front of people for a full hour. Maybe never. In a way, you're kind of putting on a 60-minute performance for your class that they can follow along with. It's been a little overwhelming to learn everything, but regardless, today is my first full-length class. I have to teach a full 60 minutes with real clients in the class. Another instructor will be present in case I pass out or something, but otherwise, it will be all me. And then tomorrow, Aug. 1, I'll teach my first real class, and no other instructor will be there to bail me out if, say, I forget an entire section.

It is a lot to remember, and at times, a lot of pressure. But sometimes, when the other instructors who are going through the training program start to panic, I just say, "Hey, relax. Remember, at the end of the day, you're just helping people exercise." Not that big of a deal.

When One Door Closes, The Next May Or May Not Slam In Your Face

In the weeks since the scenario mentioned in one of my most recent posts, in which I discuss losing a client I was previously writing online articles for, I've managed to pick up two new clients.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that, combined, they won't be paying me a whole lot more per month than my former single client was paying me. Although, the work will not be as constant. So I guess I should look at it as "a little more money for about two-thirds the work," right?

Meanwhile, I keep plugging away at my fitness instructor training. I just found out this week that the goal is to have me on the schedule as an instructor beginning in August -- which gives me about a month and a half to pysch myself up for that. Kind of nervous about all of that, but I'm sure it will be fine once I get rolling.

Also, as far as my financial earnings goal for 2011 is concerned ... We're halfway through the year, and I'm coming up about $3,000 short of where I want to be for my yearly earnings. But I'm fairly confident I can make that up throughout the third and fourth quarters ...

I tell you what ... never did I imagine, when I was an undergrad, that the business side of freelancing would be so involved. But it is, and I don't mind it. As long as the companies eventually pay me!

Everyone Knows You're Supposed To Fire People At The End Of The Day

I received some disappointing news yesterday morning -- first thing in the morning, no less -- which really cramped my productivity for the rest of the day.

It would seem a certain client of mine, an online publication, is scaling back its range of content. Feeling they've overextended the scope of their website, they have decided to cut certain sections, mine included. Complete bummer.

I've been writing for them on a daily basis for more than a year now, and I've worked hard to build up my contacts with different PR reps, various companies, brands, etc. It's disappointing now to know that next week I'll be publishing my last online article for them and then that will be that.

Not to mention, all the features I was planning on publishing in the upcoming months are now kaputtsville. And moving forward, all the pitches sent to me for the site are now going straight into my email account's "Trash" folder, and there will be the long transition during which I inform every relevant contact that I'll no longer be working in that capacity for that publication.

Fortunately, I'll be fine. Financially, the publication paid 22% of my total monthly earnings -- a significant amount, but still a percentage that I feel I can pick up again within a relatively short time because 1) I'm due for raises with some of my other clients and 2) I live with my boyfriend and even if I lost 100% of my total monthly earnings, I know he would not let me starve. (Mostly because he needs me around to cook the food he buys. Just kidding. Kind of.) And creatively, the client offered me a lot of freedom regarding what I wanted to feature on a daily basis, so that will certainly be missed. But you know what they say about proverbial doors opening and closing ...

Now I can take a breather and think about which direction I want to start heading. Do I want to publish the same kind of content on a daily basis but start my own website? Do I want to start my own website but publish a completely different kind of content? Do I want to use this opportunity to break into a totally new print or web market for myself? Do I want to write a book? Do I want to team up with another local writer/blogger and see what kind of damage we can do on this here interweb?

There are really so many possibilities; I get a little overwhelmed when I start thinking about all of my ideas at once. I'll have to spend the next few days and weeks weeding out all my bad ideas and narrowing my focus.

[Sway goes into her serious audiobook voice:] And so, in summation, letting go of a job you really cared about presents a variety of challenges as well as an opportunity to take some lessons to heart and experience personal growth.

Blah blah blah. What I'm trying to say is: If you're a newbie full-time writer, or you plan on becoming a newbie full-time writer in the near future, here are some things to keep in mind.

1. Diversify your client roster. Even if you only write about a single subject, i.e., gardening, travel, crafts, fashion, whatever, you never ever want all your income to come from a single source. Unless, of course, you have some kind of iron-clad contract with them or just happen to like surprise financial disaster emergencies.

2. In that same vein, it might help you to figure out for yourself what your monthly earning cap for any single client should be. This is a percentage that only you need to know, and only you can decide. For example, I know a writer who doesn't like for any one of his clients to make up more than 15% of his total monthly income. But this means that at any given time, he's juggling close to 10 different clients and numerous projects. However, some fields are more conducive than others to a large client base. If you write mainly for magazines, let's say, you might have a lot of different clients, because the time frames between submission and publication and payment are so long. On the other hand, if you're copy editing content that requires extremely tight turnaround, you may not be able to juggle nearly as many projects/clients.

3. Understand that you could lose your client at any given time. Not even because they don't like you or think you're bad at your job. You might be really, really good at your job. But the client may go under, their budgets may get cut, they may downsize your department (see above), or they could be taken in the rapture. You just never know, so plan accordingly. For example, if you've written almost 400 articles in a year for an online publication (my scenario), you should have been preserving your best content for your writer's portfolio as you went along. [Note: I did do this. Thank god.]

4. I repeat: Understand that you could lose your client at any given time. And actually, it's pretty much inevitable that you will, someday, for one reason or another. So save up some moolah while the checks are rolling in to float you during the times they're not.

OK, that's it, kids. Tune in next week when I discuss how to convince your parents, friends and other members of your family that yes, as a writer you do actually work every day during the week -- sometimes the weekends, too -- and yes, it is possible to earn a good, honest living at this.

Actually, I don't really know how to convince your family of all that stuff. If you're a writer, it doesn't matter what you say, they're just going to think you sleep all day anyway.

Just Like Vertical Horizon, I'm Still Here

Hello, and thank you for not leaving during the intermission.

So, I know I've been MIA for about ... oh, three months ... but I promise my hiatus has come to an end.

Here's what you missed during the break ...

-I turned 27 earlier this month.

-I wrote and copy edited. A lot.

-I've spent an infuriating amount of time tracking down payments from people who have "forgotten" to pay me or have "lost" my invoices.

-I took a weeklong trip to Hong Kong in March.

-I finally had a freelance month in which my gross earnings matched my former full-time monthly salary at the magazine (where I worked survived between 2008 and 2010). I'm singing the "Hallelujah" chorus right now as I type this, because that is seriously a HUGE achievement for me.

-I took a beginner's ballet class at my local community college this past spring semester.

-I began training to become a fitness instructor. (Not as a personal trainer; I'm being trained in a specific method, it's a kind of ballet barre/Pilates/yoga technique. If all goes well, I'll be teaching classes by the end of summer.)

-I joined the Arizona Chapter of Fashion Group International.

-I kicked my professional website/portfolio into high gear -- because man, that corner of the web needed organizing in a big, big way.

-And did I already mention I did a lot of writing and copy editing?

Next week it will have been one year ago exactly that I walked through the doors of the magazine for the last time (OK, so I've been back a few times to visit former co-workers since then, but those don't count) and officially began my freelance career. So what have I thought of the ride so far?

It's sucked.

Just kidding. It's actually been so rewarding that even though opportunities to apply for other full-time, in-house writing and editing positions have come along (and some of them have even been miiighty tempting) in the past 12 months, I've ultimately shrugged them all off. The truth is, once you become your own boss and see what that kind of life can be like, the idea of going back to a 9-to-5-er seems ridiculous.

Not to say this has been a picnic. And I think my boyfriend has probably forgotten what I look like without my laptop.

But, the need to occasionally detach from work is what drove me to get out of the house and take my ballet class a few times a week, plus go to classes at the fitness studio. Actually, I got so hooked on the fitness classes that the owner invited me to become an instructor. So now once a week I attend a workshop for about an hour and a half, in addition to taking three classes per week so that I don't lose my form. I'm also required to observe the instructors in a minimum of 10 classes, then I help with correcting clients for a minimum of eight classes, and then voila! I'll be telling people to get down and give me 20. Just kidding. We don't do that at the studio. We ask much more politely. And we do yoga pushups. Not military pushups. Actually, that's a lie. We do both. But still, we do ask much more politely.

OK, that's all for now. More tales from a writing and copy editing fitness instructor and knitter later.

Promise!

New Terminology To Impress Your Magazine Industry Friends With

The past few weeks have been a blur of holiday gift guides and New Year's resolutions compilations.

Around this time every year, the whole magazine industry compresses. Publications that put out 12 issues a year have to do all the work they normally complete in four weeks in just three, and they have to do it two months back to back, in November and December. The December issue has to be on newsstands -- or at least off to the presses -- before Thanksgiving break, and the December issue has to be done before the holidays hit. I'll let you in on a secret: the technical term for this time of year is known in the industry as a "$#!^storm."

Needless to say, stress levels run high and sometimes it all gets to be a little too much. Maybe this explains why I've had a particularly rough month with a few of my clients. But then, I would argue that maybe you haven't really become a full-fledged, full-time freelancer until someone screams at you in all caps over e-mail for something that is ultimately determined to have not been your fault in the first place. Good times.

And admittedly, I have been no peach these past several days, either. I haven't screamed at anyone in all capital letters via e-mail ... My breakdowns have been more of the tearful, blubbering, sleep-deprived sort. On the up side, this has been my most (financially) successful freelance month since I began halfway through May. On the down side, it's taught me that working around the clock and being tethered to my iPhone during every daily activity is really no way to live. I think I've finally discovered that magical "threshold" I was looking for, the one where I have enough clients/projects on my plate and it's time to stop trying to acquire more unless I want to run myself into the ground.

I'm strongly considering trading in my credit card reward points for a "no one ask anything of me" kind of vacation over next summer. And if my boyfriend forgives me for blubbering at the most random things this past month, maybe he can even come, too. I'm thinking an island. Where there's no Wi-Fi signal and no cell phone reception. But not this island. That wouldn't help anything.

In the meantime, I think I need to finally stop saying "yes" to everything and learn when to say "no."

No.

See, there, I just did it.

No.

This will be easier than I thought.

Cissie

Last weekend was fashion week here. Technically, it's only three days long, rather than a legitimate week, but they pack a lot into those three days.

One of the PR companies I work with a lot in town actually reps Ted Baker London locally and one of the PR girls contacted me to ask if I wanted to wear something from the TBL winter collection to fashion week Saturday night. Umm ... yeah!

So I got to go to the store the day before and try on a number of really fun, really cute dresses, but in the end, I chose this one:

It's called "Cissie." I loved that it was bright red (my favorite color), and that it was kind of corseted and even had pockets. I paired it with some black patent pumps from Target and some sparkly jewelry, and I was good to go. The shows I got to see that night included Neiman Marcus, Tory Burch, Ted Baker London (of course) and Betsey Johnson. It was fun, and my boyfriend didn't even mind (too much) being dragged along and having to wear a suit.

And I would have had some video from the runway shows to post, but the mini video cam I ordered got delayed and wasn't delivered until two days later, on Monday. Ah well. Best laid plans, right? Hopefully I'll get video at something other interesting event so I can try out the cam.

The Miraculous Turkey

I have a few photos from one of my recent writing assignment photo shoots concerning the perils of deep-frying a turkey. (Don't do it! It's not worth it!)

My editor and I, plus a photographer, headed to the fire department's training facility so that the training captain could help us blow up a turkey. Well, we arranged it all ahead of time, of course. I don't know that you can knock on the fire department's front door and just ask that sort of thing.

Anyway, here are a few photos.

Meet our bird. This is the poor sucker all wrapped up pre-deep-frying incident. Notice the weight. It says 18 pounds. 18!!! Turns out my editor had a really difficult time finding a turkey around town in the firs place. (Maybe all the grocery stores are getting ready for Thanksgiving by clearing out all the "old" turkeys? Who knows.) So this was the only turkey he could find. Therefore, this was the smallest turkey he could find. Personally, I felt a little guilty. There are people who struggle to put food on their tables all the time, and here we were, about to drop an 18-pound fowl into a vat of hot peanut oil just for the photo opp. Sad face. At least the magazine will be distributing food to people for the holiday. That makes me feel a little better.

And this is the poor dear all unwrapped and exposed. Oh, also -- frozen. Because that's one of the big mistakes people make when they try to deep-fry a turkey. Please, for the love of all known safety precautions, THAW the bird COMPLETELY beforehand. Or just don't deep-fry your turkey, that would be better.

This is the fire captain about to hack into the turkey with the sledgehammer he's holding in his right hand. It had to be done in order to wedge some metal into the bird in order to suspend the thing from a rope in order to hang it over a rafter in order to safely lower the thing into the pot in which it would eventually be cooked.

This is the turkey being dropped into the pot. I didn't get the big splash of hot oil (400 degrees, I think it was), but here you can see that some of the oil spilled over the edge of the pot and is burning over the heat source underneath. Pay no attention to my editor's elbow. He was trying to take photos with a digital SLR. I only had my iPhone on-hand. This also explains the poor quality of my photo.

After about 30 seconds, the fire captain raised the turkey from the pot. Notice how it already looks all golden and delicious. This is him inspecting the turkey and the equipment to make sure everything's OK for us to dunk the turkey one more time. And so it continued, more of the dunking and hot oil flying everywhere and the bird sizzling.

If you plan on deep-frying a turkey (you're crazy!), it's imperative you follow the safety precautions found here. Do NOT use an 18-pound turkey (use 12 pounds or less). Do NOT use a frozen turkey. Do NOT fill the pot almost to the top with oil (like we did here to get a splash). DO have a fire extinguisher present. Or, you know, a fire captain. Who has a fire extinguisher with him. Did I mention you should follow the safety precautions found here?

All (poor-quality) photos by Sway Sovay

Cuddle With Me

This week has been sickly. Wait, no, I meant me. I've been sickly. Not actually sick, mind you, just feeling sick. Sick of being awake.

It started with Monday. I spent probably 10 hours that day working on a feature article for a client who wanted to submit something to the ever glamorous publication Soft Drinks International. I spent most of the weekend and Monday thinking and reading way more about plastic than I've ever wanted to, let's just say that. I filed the article with my client at 1:30 a.m. and went to bed.

Now, I don't know how old you are, whoever you are, but I am 26, and according to my genetic aging process, have long passed the age during which I can still pull an all-nighter -- even a quarter-of-a-nighter -- and still manage to fully function. No, I'm already an old geezer when it comes to staying up past my bedtime (9:30 p.m.) and I was thus 100% USELESS the next day. Although, in my defense, it's not like I got to sleep in or anything. I still woke up at 5:30 a.m. to be sure I was "in the office" at the usual time (7 a.m. Phoenix time) for my East Coast clients, plus I knew I was going to need to make myself available in the event the plastics article needed revisions.

Worked until roughly noon, until my workload came to a reasonable stopping point, then I set an alarm on my phone and shut my eyes on the couch for just a few minutes ...

One hour later, I woke up and got right back to work, but I swear, being that tired and trying to form cohesive sentences and type with accuracy is pretty darn near impossible. You end up typing things like "... but the real issue with PLA plastics isn't their durability, it's that their kittens are so cuddle with me ..." I know you know this to be true.

The next thing I knew, my boyfriend was arriving home from work already. I thought, "Good. I can stop working. We'll eat dinner. We'll watch a sitcom. We'll go to bed. And I'll get my usual eight hours of sleep and feel a whole lot better in the morning.

No.

"Well," my boyfriend said, "I have to go in to work early tomorrow morning, so we'd better just eat and then go to bed."
"What? How? How early?" I managed to stammer.
"I have to be there at 5," he said. "I'll set our alarm for 3:30."
Nooooooooooooo.

By the time all was said and done, what with defrosting the chicken and boiling the pasta and grilling said chicken to perfection and then eating said chicken with creamy alfredo sauce (Seriously, it was either that or just yogurt and beer. Note to self: buy frozen pizzas and/or TV dinners during next grocery trip), we didn't make it to bed any earlier than usual. In fact, we actually made it to bed later, so I only ended getting about six or six and a half hours of sleep. Funny how after you've had the same schedule for years those one or two hours can make such a huge difference right?

As a result, on Wednesday I was "in the office" by 5 a.m. I worked until 12:15 p.m., at which point I had to drive to Downtown Scottsdale, more specifically, to the fire department, to meet my editor and a photographer there for a story I've been assigned. Long story short, even though we had an appointment, there was a gross mis-communication prior to our arrival, and the trip turned out to be a bust. So I drove home, worked, then my boyfriend came home from work early since he'd started early, he played some Modern Warfare and then went to water polo practice. (Yes, a couple months ago it was rowing, now it's water polo -- I know, I can't keep up either.) I kept working.

Boyfriend came home at 10:00 from practice, there was some semblance of a dinner, then there was sleep. But not much, because going to bed at 11:00 and getting up at 5:30 means you're going to spend at least the first 30 minutes just thinking about the fact that you're going to bed at 11 and getting up at 5:30. It's the sick law of dreading what's coming.

So today -- exhausted. Today -- still behind on work for the week. Today -- had to interview a rambler over the phone. Today -- forgot to eat lunch. Today -- exhausted.

Today ... Tonight ... have to somehow clean up the house, because the in-laws arrive tomorrow morning.

Yes, that's right, in a fantastic twist of fate known as The Worst Timing Ever, they will be arriving from Oklahoma in the morning and I will somehow have to make sure they have decent living quarters and a refrigerator stocked with something more than just yogurt and beer.

Don't worry, I've pulled it off before.

And then after they leave on Sunday, so help me, I am going to sleep. For days.

But That's Why I Bring The Tape Recorder

I'm heading to New York on Wednesday around lunchtime. At the same time, my boyfriend is getting on a different plane and heading to Chicago. I'm sure our stacks of books and papers here at home will miss us.

The good news is I'm not stressed out about all the work that will or won't be done while I'm gone. I'll be checking in on things and working on assignments here and there, but I think I've managed to get a pretty good headstart on the week. Which is awesome. The ability to schedule posts for future dates and times was a superb invention.

The bad news is, today a PR rep called me to say she'd seen my published interview with one of her clients and that the client is upset that they were misquoted. Honestly, this has never happened to me before, so I was understandably upset myself, too. But I always, always, always record all my interviews, whether they're over the phone or in person -- and this is precisely the reason why. The whole thing is still in limbo, because the client hasn't yet passed on the corrections. Very frustrating. But at least the article is published online and not in print, so as soon as the client is able to tell me what was in error, there is the possibility of fixing it and everyone going back to living with a peace of mind.

But I'm still looking forward to New York, full speed ahead. Any recommendations for places to eat and shop, that sort of thing, do let me know.

A Very Important Post

Listen up. In writing this post, I set out with a very particular goal in mind, one of extreme significance in consideration of the potential outcome of my evening, the purpose of this post being to delay, for as long as I possibly can, work on my article about the situation in a certain African country, which is, ahem, due tomorrow.

Now, I am not against spreading the word about the atrocities that are currently taking place in certain regions in Africa, and I am certainly not against people wanting to correct these scenarios. I am just, for lack of a better word, tired.

After all, I did drive aaaaaaaaall the way into downtown Phoenix for an interview today. And if you've ever driven in rush hour traffic here, you know it's no picnic. Also, I wrote two web articles before that. Also, I'm going on 67 hours of work since last Friday. (And I will no doubt be burning the candle at both ends tonight. But let's not stop being in denial about that for a moment.)

See, I'm trying this new thing where I keep track of how many hours I work per day so that at the end of every week I'll know exactly why I feel so darn exhausted. So far it's mostly managed to depress me. Usually in the moments in which I consider the fact that in this wonderful industry payment often lags four to eight weeks. But sometimes it makes me feel great because ... no, just kidding, turns out I can't think of any reason why working that many hours in one week consistently is "great."

One of the things I was happy to leave behind when I left the full-time job at the magazine because my hours there were so INSANE. Well, it turns out, the hours I'm keeping working from home aren't a whole lot different ... which is less than pleasant ... however, I don't think it will stay like this for years, because I'll eventually work my way up to nabbing higher-paying clients and therefore be able to work fewer hours. Plus, I can drink wine while I work. Hello?! Bonus! (By the way, don't drink and write. Or do. Apparently it worked for the Ernest Hemingways of the world. Actually, that's a bad example. Nevermind. Moving on ...)

[Intermission while I check People.com.]

[45 minutes later ...]

OK, so I should probably go write that article now. I mean, I am supposed to be a professional ...

But first I'm taking a tour of the fridge. Maybe I still have some ice cream. C'mon, it's brain food!

"Krasivaya" Is Russian For "Beautiful"

I'm interviewing a Russian supermodel tomorrow.

What the heck do I wear for that?

Let the raiding of the closet commence in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

[Edit: I forgot to mention that it's 103 degrees here in Phoenix. Yay.]

Perspective

 Two and a half years ago, I didn't have a clue about the magazine industry or publishing or what it took to write professionally.

Heck, even four and a half years ago, after having earned my bachelor's in professional writing, I didn't even have a grasp on what was involved.

And yet, here I am today, on the other side of a two-year-plus stint at a national magazine, now writing from home full-time. I'm running my own professional website, I have a for-business-only e-mail address, I have business cards, I've made an appointment with a photographer for a portrait to put on my cards and other various locations on the internet, and best of all, I have jobs and contacts.

The whole ordeal seems a bit insane to me to some degree, I'll admit. When I chose my major in college, I got the expected raised eyebrows from many (many) people, including my parents (especially my parents). "You want to major in professional writing? What does that mean?"

And I would explain in a usually -- not always, but usually -- patient manner that it meant I would most likely go on to work at a PR company, writing press releases, or I would be writing ad copy for a corporation or a marketing firm. And usually -- not always, but usually -- that would kind of put an end to people's questions.

To be honest, though, I'm not sure that I believed what I was saying each time I gave that explanation. It's not that I believed I'd be writing poetry chapbooks or penning novels, it's just that I really wasn't sure what a professional writing degree meant, either. All I knew was that writing for other people was something I was good at and something I enjoyed doing, and fortunately, I was able to convince my family and friends of the same.

Of course, now it's easy for me to see a third fold to that logic, which is the fact that my ability to write is, maybe luckily or unluckily, my only marketable skill. Really. And I'm not disappointed in that.

It makes a lot of sense now that I'm older. I am a kind of copier, in a sense; I can only work with things that have already been created or provided to me, but I can't just create stuff in the true sense of the word. And when I was a kid, this used to frustrate me to no end. But now that I'm an adult, I can finally see the pattern, and it's allowed me to play to my strengths, and also explained a lot about who I am and what I'm capable of.

See, there was a reason that I could only make beautiful copies from photos when I was in art class in high school. And there was a reason I couldn't just make up choreography on my own in tap class. And there was a reason I sucked at sports, too -- if a scenario didn't exactly fit one of our pre-game drills, I couldn't recognize what my reaction should be. And I was never really any good at geometry or calculus or science, either, because those subjects, too, take a special kind of creativity that I just don't have. (I did rock algebra pretty hard, though. I can find X with the best of them. Boo-yah.) And to this day, after knitting for years, I can't make up or adjust knitting patterns on the fly; if something doesn't have absolutely every single stitch written out, I can just forget it.

So maybe I can't do any of those other things very well, but what I can do is take a whoooooole lot of information and words, process it, and then spit it back out, so to speak -- re-organize it in a way that's interesting and that people can understand.

Even though everything about the way my brain is wired funneled me down the path of writing and editing, I never knew that it could lead to something as cool as this -- a career in which I get to work from home but still go to events, get to make my own schedule and decide when I take time off, and yet still earn a living while meeting new people and learning new things every day.

I've come a long way, baby. I'm proud of myself. I was a frustrated little kid (and later, a frustrated adult), who didn't understand why I couldn't just be good at all the things I wanted to be good at. But now I have a much broader view.
My point is ...

Maybe there's something you wish you were better at or had a knack for that you just always struggle with, and maybe it's time to recognize that that's OK. Maybe it's time to discover what the positive is to your negative, so to speak.

We're all bad at things, and we're all good at things. And sometimes looking at one can help us determine the other.

And I think that's pretty cool.

This Has Been My Life On Pause

This has been the most insane week work-wise for me since I went rogue freelance. I think it's like some kind of unwritten rule that the more stuff you already have on your plate, the more people who suddenly come out of the woodwork needing things from you. Also, the more impossible the request, the more likely it is that they need it "right away."

A few publications have amped up the volume of copy editing work they're giving me this month, which is awwwwwwe-some, BUT ... "Barcelona" is due tomorrow (with PHOTOS, sweet lord ...), and I am praying the Muse helps me crank out the last few pages of this beast of an article before I rip all my hair out. Pray that the internet gods do not crash any of the sites I need to use as resources, nor do any lolcats jam the waves as they are being transmitted through the tubes. Pray that I can continue to subsist on whatever I can still find in my fridge and pantry, and that I one day eventually remember how to socialize, since I haven't been out of the house since last weekend.

So help me god, when this week is over I am going shopping to spend every last dime I have on clothes and shoes in order to restore fun and frivolity to my life!!!

Not really. That would kind of defeat the purpose. But I am going shopping. Maybe I'll even buy something not on sale this time -- you know, get all crazy-like.

Not All Of The Martinis Are Blue

Yup, I did it. (I'm referring to my last post of course.) And I feel fine. Fine and healthy. Didn't get any headaches, no feeling lightheaded, no suffering from exhaustion. It was a piece of cake. Er, glass of juice.

And now that I've come to the end of the last day, I just feel strong and refreshed and happy that I did something good for myself. Instead of downing food containing only some usable calories and the rest going to waste, for the past three days I fed my body nothing but usable calories, and I have to say, the difference in how it has made me feel is pretty impressive. I did lose some weight, too, just as a happy side effect -- and it burned off in all the right places, so I don't necessarily look "skinnier," just more toned up in all the spots that always gave me trouble. Overall, I give this experiment an A. I'm leaving off the plus sign because I have to admit that drinking that much juice got a little monotonous by the morning of Day 3. Except for the raw cashew chocolate milk! That recipe was delish ...

At any rate, I am going out tonight to a birthday get-together at Blue Martini for a few hours, even though I would much rather stay home (I'm boring like that) and get some work done. I fell behind today due to the fact that a friend of mine who is on vacation in California needed me to deliver a saddle. Yes, you read that right. She's a professional equestrian. I had to go claim said saddle and then take said saddle to her stable. (Try saying that five times fast.) Therefore I lost a little time in the ol' office, aka my living room.

I also went to the Phoenix Art Museum this morning for work, to see the Cezanne exhibition they currently have on display. It was really good, much larger than I had expected -- it took me about an hour to go through the whole thing, which I think is kind of a while for just one room of paintings.

So tonight: Blue Martini, come home, work, crash, wake up, work, clean house again, make grocery run, work, then go pick up my boyfriend from the airport and possibly go see my friend in the hospital who gave birth to twins yesterday. And then, yep, you guessed it -- work some more. Weeeeeeeeeee.

Our Condo Is Spotless

Last week was not a super one, although it ended happily.

It started with having to do my first weekly filing for unemployment insurance, which was something of a confusing and demoralizing process. For that I also needed my final paystub from the magazine, which employees are supposed to be able to retrieve online, however, my login failed. (Which is weird, considering the company has still not removed my access to my company e-mail or the magazine's web-based software ...) So thus ensued a series of annoying phone calls until my paystub was eventually retrieved and a copy mailed to Arizona's "Department of Economic Security." Yippee.

Tuesday I heard back regarding a job interview I'd had just before Memorial Day Weekend. No go. And it was a really, really, really perfect position for me, too. I was extremely disappointed.

Wednesday I was supposed to meet up with a friend who is a horse trainer and hunter/jumper instructor for a free riding lesson, which I now finally have the time to do since I am no longer working full-time. I've waited long time to be able to take her up on her offer, and then on Wednesday she had to cancel at the last minute. I mean, I can't be too upset, because after all, she is doing a really nice thing here and offering to give me a completely free lesson, but she's also leaving for California this week with one of her pupils for the rest of the summer to go on a horse showing tour of Cali or some such biz.

Thursday my debit card number was stolen, or maybe it had been stolen long before that and the thief only attempted to use it on Thursday, who knows. Either way, I was not happy about it. The only good thing about the whole situation was that my card was declined at a coffee shop that happened to be right next door to one of my bank's branches, so I was just like, "Excuse me," and then walked a few yards to ask the teller, "Yo, what the *&$# is going on with my account." This raised an interesting situation, in which I discovered that apparently it takes three representatives to help a customer solve a fraud issue at that particular location. Good times.

Friday morning, before my boyfriend headed off to work, we were sitting at the dining room table, having breakfast, and I said, "You know, we really need to get together with our landlords to renew our lease. I think it expires this week."

Time out. First, some background information you may find helpful. Important things to know:

1. Our landlords are good friends of ours, and were even long before we became their tenants. They're kind of like the super cool aunt and uncle you may already have or just wish you had. This is why they trust us enough to let our lease wind down to the week of without a renewal -- they know we're good for it. This is also why they never felt the need to come by the condo a single time during the whole past year we've been living in it. They trust us and are cool like that. But still, I think all four of us were just getting lazy about the renewal, and I knew we shouldn't put it off any longer, which is why I brought it up.

2. They live in a 7,000-square-foot palace up in the mountains outside of Scottsdale. They have impeccable taste and are, as you might expect, somewhat picky about almost everything. Not in a huge pain in the neck kind of way, but picky.

3. A week and a half ago, I finally made a list for my boyfriend of six or seven things that needed to be done around our condo that I knew either he would want to do himself, or that he should do due to my lack of capability in that particular area. Examples would include replacing our air filter, emptying our vacuum (every time I do it, I make a huge mess and sneeze for days), clean the outdoor grill (which is on loan from our landlords), reduce the piles and piles of random stuff on his desk in the office ... Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

4. As of Friday, my boyfriend had done approximately zero of these things.

Time in. So we were sitting at the breakfast table, and I brought up the issue of the lease. "Yeah," he said, "Let's e-mail or call them today and see if we can swing by this evening to do it." Well, of course that's code for me e-mailing or calling, so as soon as he left for work I sent the wife a message with our proposal. We know it's always more convenient for us to come to them, so we always meet at their home. She wrote back and said that sounded great, we could come over at 6. Perfect. I sat down at my desk, and I began to answer e-mails and settle in for another day of filling out job apps and so on. But then another message from her pops up in my inbox. "Actually," she writes, "we will come to you guys. We can see the condo and sign the lease and then all go to dinner afterward. See you at 6."

Now, believe me when I tell you that from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., I did absolutely nothing but clean. I mean, I keep it pretty clean here all the time, especially lately, because I've been, ahem, at home more often. But let's be honest, there's a difference between cleaning for yourself and cleaning for your picky landlords who are coming over with your lease renewal contract. Right?

So guess who got to take care of the many items on my boyfriend's to-do list? That's right. Me. And the rest of everything else. I started in the kitchen, worked my way into the entry hall, then on to the living room, dining room, hallway, guest room, guest bath, master bath ... And about the time I made it to the master bedroom, about 1:00, my boyfriend came home from work. I told him he owed me big time. He told me I'd done a great job and then he went to go get us a pizza. (I swear they think differently from us, but it's the thought that counts, I suppose.)

To his credit, he did return. Bearing food, no less. And after we had recharged on a Mexican Pizza from Z's, we tag-teamed the rest of the place until it sparkled and shined. We finished at approximately 5:45, I showered in record time, and they were here at 6:15. Whew.

They said the place looked nice. We renewed the lease. And then we went out for a lovely dinner at Rhythm and Wine, where, I can happily attest, I was not asked to clean one single thing.

To Be Filed Under: Filing

On Saturday, I submitted my application to receive unemployment benefits. It felt weird, like I should be ashamed by it, but then again, there's a large percentage of the population that's in the same boat right now. And also, as my boyfriend pointed out, we do pay unemployment insurance each time we earn wages, so if I paid for it, I might as well use it. Right? Still weird though.

In similar news, I received an e-mail today from a recent interviewer letting me know that the company had found someone else they liked better for their copywriter position. Nertz. As you can probably tell, it has not felt like a super-productive day.

Tomorrow morning, out of retaliation against the universe, I will be going for a horse riding lesson and then quite possibly to a friend's birthday party in the evening. Also, I fully intend to take part in the Irish Cultural Center of Arizona's "Bloomin' Beerfest" on Saturday. Do you hear me, universe?? That ought to shake you up a bit.

Waving Goodbye, Saying Hello

I've been putting off writing this post for, well, about two weeks now, because I think I keep believing that if I don't say it, it isn't really true.

But the truth is, next Tuesday is my last day working full-time with the magazine. A handful of corporate positions, mine included, are being relocated to one of the magazine's coastal markets. And as my boyfriend and I agree that we don't want to leave Phoenix at this time, I won't be making the move with the company.

While this has been an incredibly demanding full-time job for the past two years, and I've often joked that it's the "best worst" job I've ever had, I have to say it makes me very sad to think about now being forced to abandon a department I worked so hard the past few years to build up into something awesome. Not to mention, I'll miss the people I worked so closely with. I definitely saw them more than my family over the past years, and maybe that's why they feel like family to me.

So since January, I've been looking for a new full-time job, but I'm afraid I've turned up empty-handed. I was offered a position in March, but the company wasn't a great fit for me, and after much thought, I had to decline. And so now, it would seem I'm going solo for a while.

The good news out of all of this? I'm actually going to be able to write full-time!!! And I'm really, really excited about that. As of right now, I already have one major client, but I'm hoping that with more time to devote to marketing myself, I'll be able to acquire more. And of course, the magazine will continue to send me out on assignments and pay me as a contractor for this and that.

As of Wednesday next week, it looks like my new title will be "Go-Getter." Or "Workhorse." It's too soon to tell.

The Arrival of the MOO

Yay! My mini biz cards from MOO arrived! Now I'm off to go network ...

MOO

This past weekend I ordered business cards from MOO, and I can't wait to get them!

Now that I have a steady freelance writing job (and the hope to acquire several more) that requires me to call on PR reps and other individuals, I often feel as though I should be saying, "Oh, and let me give you one of my cards," at the end of each meeting, but instead I have to go grab a napkin or a Post-It note and scratch something out for them. I figured I'd better just buckle down and start treating this like the real deal and spring for some cards.

I opted for the MiniCards in this package. They'll have my info on one side and a pretty design on the other. I think they perfectly match what I wanted -- professional-looking and fun ... but not too fun. If that makes sense.

Final verdict to be decided after I receive them!

In Which I Lay Out This Week's Rockin' Agenda

Today. A coworker and I went to lunch at Stax Burger Bistro. It's quickly becoming my new favorite place to grab a burger, because the sandwiches are somewhere between the size of a slider and your standard hamburger. Translation: You can eat two or three of them in one sitting, which means you get to try a few different meats and flavor combos, instead of just one. Plus, so many foods are cuter when they're smaller. Burgers included.

Tomorrow. I'm spending all day with my mother. That will likely be equal parts fun and stress. God help us all.

Wednesday. I'm going to a PR lunch at Modern Steak as work for a new writing gig I just acquired.

Thursday. For the magazine, I'm interviewing Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen regarding their line The Row, and then later that day I'll be attending their event at Barneys New York. They'll be in town for a charity event they're participating in with the Phoenix Suns.

Friday. My boyfriend and I are going to see Muse play at the US Airways Center, and I could not be more excited!

Saturday. Remember that friend of mine who got married about two weeks ago? She and her husband just got back from their Parisian honeymoon. I'm meeting her and all the other bridesmaids at Petite Maison on Saturday to catch up with one another and spare the bride from having to repeat every story about Paris five times over.

Saturday afternoon. I will collapse into a heap -- poolside, preferably -- but not for long, because a writer never really has much time she can afford to not be writing. Well, she can, but let's put it this way -- she'll pay for it.

And with that, I turn toward my word processor ...