Welcome to the Insanity Den

Are you a serial killer movie or TV fan? Read on.

Credit: Crazy Walls

Recently, I started a fun creative project to document and comment on the "insanity dens" of fictional serial killers. This will take place in short form on Instagram and will be backed up and potentially expanded here.

Insanity Den?

My sig other and I were watching an episode of Criminal Minds, the one where Kevin from The Office is alone in his private, dark, dungeon-y space. Maybe the basement of his home or the workshop at his job. The walls are coated in collages of Ancient Greek myth imagery, sunlight tip toes through gaps in shrouded windows, clutter fills every surface and crack. Kevin-not-Keven is triggered by a poster of a Greek seashore, a long held fantasy of escape, a life plan he failed miserably at achieving before being diagnosed with a fatal illness. He has an explosion of rage and operatically tears down the carefully curated collage. That's when my husband said, "Insanity den!"

While TV Tropes calls it a Room Full of Crazy, as a copywriter I find "insanity den" more appealing.
It's punchy and there's something about the connotations and intonations of the word "den" that evoke the silliness of many "room full of crazy" depictions. Especially for outrageous shows like Criminal Minds, which depends on pop culture's serial killer trope: the tortured and broken person who is compelled to bring hideous yet specific violence on others that are a manifestation of intricate, nuanced, and often implausible logic that they may not even be fully aware of. In other words, so many things about Criminal Minds are silly, and there's something silly about the words "insanity" and "den" together. (I have to say, there are a lot of things I love about CM and it's helped me through 2020. Because I'm one of those weirdos who chills out to true crime and crime fiction.)

What am I defining the insanity den as? It's where serial killers can be themselves, can dream, can make plans. Where they can shout it out either to the ether, a broken mirror, or to an unfortunate victim dead or alive. It's where they can page through their scrapbook of death, caress stolen locks of hair and other much grosser tokens, pour over newspaper clippings picturing their Eliott Ness-like arch-nemesis, have full-on conversations with their delusions. Delicately place fragile furniture just to knock it over in a juvenile fit of rage. All for the camera.

Buffalo Bill found an outlet. So did I a long time ago: writing. Notably, writing without a deadline or anyone to answer to. Writing for fun and writing about fun-to-me topics. I've spent the last 11 years writing copy for major retail brands. My work has been translated into dozens of languages and read by millions. No byline of course, but that's Okay. What I need now is to nurture my all-time favorite creative outlet, writing, in the truest way I always used to enjoy it. Having worked so long in the private sector where "they expect results" (Ghostbusters anyone?) my writing has been way too tied up in marketing and too dependent on what executives need for it to feel deeply rewarding. 

And so, my thoughts on insanity dens coming your way to a blogger and insta near you. Mostly from Criminal Minds since that was the inspiration and that has the most fodder I know of right now. I will explore film, other TV, and will gladly take suggestions. And, while aiming to be thoughtful and sensitive to real mental health, I will have fun.

Now, won't you come inside?

The Problematic Buffalo Bill. Credit: IndieWire

It's Not the Squid Fishing Fleet: Part 2

In my last post, I shared my personal reasons for naming my hand embroidery shop Squid Fishing Fleet. I wrote:

To me, the phrase "squid fishing fleet" has come to represent the mixed nuts of UFO studies: its fringe intrigue, its Americana lore, its kitsch, its rainbow of personalities shining in shades of respectability, sympathy, amusement, curiosity, and actual bullshit. 

It also stands for legit wonder. That adolescent passion for believing impossible things.

But, it's not just me connecting fleets of squid fishing boats with UFOs. It's REAL.

Earth Observatory

As recent as 2014, the International Space Station capture images of dense light off the coast of Thailand. From a distance on the water, as pictured above, these same lights could seem otherworldly. To flip the words of Dr. Bruce Maccabee, it's actually the squid fishing fleet.
 
According to NASA's Earth Observatory: "Scientists first noted such night-lighting of the seas in the late 1970s and early 1980s, while compiling the first maps of Earth at night."

At night, fleets of fishing boats cluster over nutrient-rich, southern Pacific waters. Rigged with LED lights to lure a small species of squid, the boats light up the absolute darkness.

It's all very magical seeming when you see images like the above, but a common place for these suckered squid to end up is in an air-locked package like that of popular Japanese snack.

Squid Jerky!

Unless one knows about the squid fishing fleets, with their bright clear lights that seem to hover still and silent, it may rightly freak a person out.

That's why in the documentary UFO's Are Real Maccabee talks about his studies of the December 31, 1978 sighting off the coast of New Zealand. The former Navy physicist talks about thoroughly and as dryly as those jerky treats, but there's a tasty morsel of the quirkiness, facetiousness or innocence, that is what always draws me in to these kinds of stories.

Maccabee's site reads:

         Subsequently, Philip J. Klass published the squid boat explanation in his book, UFOs, THE PUBLIC DECEIVED (Prometheus Books, Buffalo, NY, 1983). After citing his reasons for agreeing with Ireland and Andrews, Klass wrote, "If the bright object photographed in Pegasus Bay was not a squid boat, the only plausible alternative is that it was an extraterrestrial craft from a distant world."

         Could that be true? Is it possible that the light was not from a squid boat and therefore was from a ET craft?
         The following paper shows why it was not a squid boat....unless it was a

flying squid boat.

I can only take Maccabee's word, with his serious math and stuff, on what the New Zealand footage shows. Or not. But whether it's a real unidentifiable space craft, a hoax, Venus, Jupiter, mating mutton birds, or the squid fishing fleet isn't the point to me.

It's random pictures of a guy in a row boat staring at a glowing light on the horizon, taken out of context. It's what I said about the off-the-record, off-center cultural meme and all the characters playing a part.

It's Not the Squid Fishing Fleet: Part 1

In the late 1970s, Dr. Bruce Maccabee, a US Navy optical physicist, studied a film shot by a New Zealand news crew that may have captured a UFO. Being an expert in optical data and other Strategic Defense Initiative work, Dr. Maccabee studied the footage and of the spasmodically moving light in it, Dr. Maccabee says this in the 1979 documentary UFO's Are Real:
"I've concluded that the film does not show Venus or Jupiter. It does not show meteors or mating mutton birds. It does not show secret military maneuvers or the squid fishing fleet. I've concluded that the film is not a hoax."

Emphasis above is my own. That's because Squid Fishing Fleet is the name of my new craft and art shop!

Patches, handmade by me, oozing with my inner thoughts-now for sale at squidfishingfleet.bigcartel.com! 👽 #embroidery #smallbusiness #vagina #cats #aliens #deer

A photo posted by judy webring-reynolds (@judy_webring_reynolds) on Dec 18, 2016 at 4:28pm PST

You kind of have to hear him say it in the documentary because he speaks in short statements with a shield over any personal bias or emotion toward the topic, as a military professional would. He also gives off a nerdy vibe.

In the context of the entire UFO's Are Real documentary, with its 70s film stock and style, its cast of characters—Maccabee, Wendelle Stevens (biographer/translator of guru Billy Meier), Dr. Leo Sprinkle, Marjorie Fish, Dr. James Harder, (how do they have names like these?) Betty Hill (genuinely my personal favorite), plus the granddad of ufology Stanton Friedman—and its clear agenda, it's kind of amazing.

To me, the phrase "squid fishing fleet" has come to represent the mixed nuts of UFO studies: its fringe intrigue, its Americana lore, its kitsch, its rainbow of personalities shining in shades of respectability, sympathy, amusement, curiosity, and actual bullshit. 

It also stands for legit wonder. That adolescent passion for believing impossible things. 

So, I feel that, without thinking about it too much, it can encompass most of the themes that inspire me to create, whatever I end up putting out there. Some items aren't or won't direct related to UFOs; I make them because I think they're cool or pretty.

A piece of advice I held onto from a speaker at the 2016 Portland Creative Conference was to not think too much about what you're creating, just to make it. Similar to one of my favorite Cheryl Strayed sentiments from Wild:

"Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig."

Another great piece of advice comes from my fellow artist pal and long-time friend Natalie. She said that if I just make what I like and put it out there, the right people will find it.

Without making myself produce products that everyone likes or if I'm doing enough good marketing, I'm giving myself permission to make what I'm excited about. I'll will talk about it in a way that feels good. And, I'm going to keep my day job because I ain't paying the rent with threads and felt. That's how the world works right now, and I accept it in a way. 

Meanwhile, for some background about how squid fishing fleets and UFOs are related, check out my next post!

Cheers!

How Lists & Routines Help Me WFH

A photo posted by judy webring-reynolds (@judy_webring_reynolds) on Dec 12, 2016 at 3:32pm PST

Since beginning my career in start ups about seven years ago, I was introduced to the modern habit of working from home ("WFH" if you've ever read a PJ-wearing peer's gchat status). I never liked working from home, yet my current job pretty much calls for it.

In my first nine months of this job, working from home helped me become depressed.

Part of problem was that I had 0 friends as the new girl in town. Well, I changed that through luck and action.

Another issue what my offense to the fact that I believe work for an entity outside myself has no place in my home, my sanctuary. I changed my attitude toward that by reevaluating my 9 to 5 time within my sanctuary.

Remaining are my days, vast with possibility of motivation/lack of motivation.

How do I deal?

I make lists.

1. Starting with the intangible, digital realm, my iPhone helps. Included with my latest iOS are two apps, "Bedtime"  within the alarm app and "Reminders". Bedtime reminds me at 9:30 PM to get ready for 10:00 PM sleep.

At 7:00 AM, my alarm rings ("chirps" really, as I have it set to a forest of birds waking me! Not as tranquil as it sounds!). That's a total of nine hours of sleep, which is the least I need. I could, and do, sleep or lay around even longer. But, the important thing here is to have bed/wake times. Without a plan, there's no beginning or end to the days at all, thus an overwhelming pool of hours without a name.

A photo posted by judy webring-reynolds (@judy_webring_reynolds) on Nov 18, 2016 at 9:08pm PST

2. Once I'm up, which varies between 7:00 AM and 8:30 AM (no later) depending on the day of the week or what I did the night before, I make coffee. I'm one of those "no coffee, no talkie" people, but it's more than that. It's part of my routine, my morning ritual. I make my coffee with my janky set up (mason jar, sieve), and enjoy it while eating cereal, starting simpler work tasks, talking to my husband, or just staring. Borrowing a clever line from Stranger Things, "Mornings are for coffee and contemplation."

That makes it a ritual, elevating it from just a routine or something I do to get through the morning. This approach secures it as a moment of grounding and simplicity.

3. As I ease into getting down to business (actual work), I make my daily list. It usually looks like this:

Monday
review upcoming bills/budget
work 8:30-12:30
-edit posts
-rewrite descriptions
-clear team inbox
meditate 1
yoga/lunch
work 1:30-5:00
-Tahoe lodge descriptions
-Martha's Vineyard beach house
-Big Sky email
meditate 2

Lists within lists, vague to-dos, specific tasks. Some of these (meditate, yoga), I have reminders on my phone for, yet I still include them in my handwritten list because it's a part of my day and physically crossing it out feels good.

Some of these are obvious, like work. When WFH, though, it has been all too easy for me to get lost in the possibility of when and how much to work, when to stop, when to start, what to do when, etc. With a plan of attack, I have a structure to work through step by step. Before I know it, I've completed my hours, contributed to my next paycheck, and can move on to "me time."

That's pretty much it!

A note on handwritten vs. digital: I'm a compulsive notebook hoarder, so it's easy for me to handwrite my dailies. If you're a minimalist and can't stand clutter, perhaps one big binder or a clean stack of Moleskins will work for you.

Whatever you do, I really believe that handwriting will save us all. The physical connection from our hands to pen to paper better solidifies that thought in our minds. You may also feel compelled to jot down other things on or beyond your list: a random thought, a funny memory, a doodle, an idea. Now your day is richer because you didn't just let your phone tell you what to do.

Want to start similar habits? Here are a few things you might want:

1. Easy-to-use apps like Bedtime and Reminders to nudge you nicely

2. A notebook and pen, or a pile of scrap papers and crayon, your hand and a Sharpie, etc.

3. Ownership of your time, a.k.a. breaks from work when you need them

4. Your own permission for sitting and staring at nothing

5. Patience for practice. ...

A photo posted by judy webring-reynolds (@judy_webring_reynolds) on Nov 26, 2016 at 4:20pm PST

It's not going to work the first time exactly as you expect. It's never going to work unless you just keep doing it as much as you can. You will miss days because you're on vacation, you have an appointment, you have an emergency, you're tired or bored. Trying your best to practice every day and letting the practice take its time is enough in itself. And, I believe, that when you practice, it will work out for you as it needs to.

Do you WFH? What are your tips?

This Week in Reads

I want to share what content I found most inspirational this week!

Buzzfeed's 17 Incredibly Important Life Lessons We Can Learn From Winona Ryder [and also, I may add, a great collection of Winona Ryder .gifs]

My personal favorite life lessons from this list are "Never be ashamed of who (or what) you love," "Go blonde at least once," (I've done that, and it's great), and "Believe that anything can happen," (only if it's followed up with "when all else fails, laugh).

As I explored the annals of Design*Sponge for a work project, I stumbled upon this piece on tips for keeping sane while working alone, which I often do (work alone, that is). My biggest takeaway from that post is what you see in the intro image above!

Finally, this little piece exposing a little-known tip for success is basically Ira Glass telling us how many years of sucky work he himself created before he finally figured it out (17 years). If you ever feel suffocated by the amount of good-looking people in their early 20s who have seemingly made it, know that the number of them are fewer and farther between than you realize and that their life could get really boring by the time they're 30. Just think of yourself as a wine or cheese - you'll get better with age. As I turn 32 in a few weeks, I'm going to remind myself of this.

A little note on my process for this post:
My email has around a dozen unread emails in it from myself that I sent within the last three weeks. They each contain one url to an article that I want to follow up on or remember. If I open the email to find the link, but I'm still not done, I'll mark it as unread so that I can easily find It's an activity I hope to make a habit of!

What good reads did you find this week?

Marathon Training Week Four

Sunday 6/28 - 9 miles!

I thought that maybe last week's magic 5 miles under an hour was a fluke, but nope! Today's 9 mile run, the first truly long run, imo, during this program was a piece of cake. I was worried because this is where I start to break down. While I have happily crossed four half-marathon finish lines, I always start to FEEL it around 9 miles.

Thanks to the Springwater Trail, I was able to blow through miles 5 to 8 without even realizing how far I'd gone. If I wasn't totally in the zone, I would pull out my phone and snap pictures of some of my favorite points of interests during my route, such as the footbridge over McLoughlin/99 or this really cool building somewhere on the southwestern end of Sellwood that has waterfowl painted on it. My average pace was 11:15/mile! Woo!

One of my favorite ways to carb up.

 Tuesday 7/1 

Three miles in the morn'. 

Beer=the most fun way to carb up.

Wednesday 7/2 

Woke up at the crack of dawn to run 5 miles. Shudder. 

Eating healthy is beautiful in Oregon!

Thursday 7/3

Today I just needed to sleep in. There was no choice. Sometimes you just need to sleep off the sleeps! Took an afternoon three-mile run around the 'hood.

Body Positivity and Biking

Since turning 30, I've been doing things I never thought I would do. Something I did recently that never would have crossed my mind as even being a thing was riding a bike topless in public. It was possibly the best thing I've ever done.

This passed Saturday I participated in the Portland World Naked Bike Ride, a protest to draw attention to bikers' vulnerability in our dangerous car culture.

But, like many causes, each individual may chose their own purpose for participation. Yes, I dislike sharing the road with overly aggressive cars, and I believe in freeing the nipple, but what moved me most was more personal. After 31 years of being a woman in this world, I finally felt truly comfortable in my own skin.

We showed up in the park among totally or partially nude bikers (and some individuals in motorized wheelchairs) and I still wasn't ready to strip yet. There was nothing about the people around me that affected me at all--it all was very natural feeling. But, I still couldn't get myself to do it. I'm not sure why, but I felt like a poser almost. Am I really this confident? Am I really someone who does stuff like this?

My partner, who had the bag in which my clothes would be held the whole time, gave me the final warning to pack away my covers. So, just like I was standing at the edge of the pool too hyped up to jump in, I hesitated. And then I finally took the plunge. And, nothing happened, which is the best thing that could have happened.

Over the course of the ride, I grew more and more blithe. It really became so obvious and true to me how arbitrary body shaming is. You can't possibly compare yourself to others because every single person is so very different.

We met up afterwards with a few lady friends who, like me, were bursting with confidence in our bodies. No, we were strutting around like Beyonce or showing off like a bunch of exhibitionists. That's the thing. There was nothing sexy, grand, vulgar, or cheeky (hehe) about it. It was all just what it is - people naked and feeling comfortable. And, as women, that was SO remarkable.

So, I take this with me every day now.

Marathon Training Week Three

I don't have any pictures from my training this week, so here's a picture of a surfing alpaca!

Sunday RUNDAY - 5 miles.

This was a big accomplishment for me today because it was the first time I ran 5 miles in less than an hour! It took me 58 minutes, so just under, but still! It could have had to do with the fact that we ran into a slightly sketchy part of Clackamass that I was eager to get out of, but hey, it got me to push myself! Running longer than three miles at a time and to not break more than 12 minutes a mile is an accomplishment for me. Go me!

Tuesday 6/23

Nice afternoon 3 miles to 60th and Division's water fountain. Did come across a weirdo walking around grabbing his junk...which reminds me that I should think more about a "Take Back the Night" style run. It'd be really cool to lead something like that!

Wednesday 6/24

Evening run and hot as fuck. Seriously hot. Ran 4 miles somehow.

Thursday 6/25

Today was v hot again. In fact, I got dehydrated on just 3 miles. Thank goodness for the water fountain at Essex Park, just a minute walk from my apartment. I'm not sure if I would have made it all the way home.

This week was pretty good despite the heat!

Marathon Training Week Two

Sunday (long run) 6/14
Seven miles, and the ice packs to prove it.

 Oh, and just look at those tan lines...

Tuesday 6/16

As my husby ran ahead of me about a tenth of a mile, a cute elderly couple strolled by on their morning walk. The gentleman said to me, "he's running away from you!" Love old man jokes.

Wednesday 6/17

Omg, two days in a row of getting up at 6 AM to...run. I have gotten over my partial hatred of running (I think for most runners there are times when you honestly just hate it so much and wonder why you do it at all). What I have yet to get over is getting up early. I don't think I can ever truly enjoy getting up early. But, after 4 miles, it's not so bad. Could be better though.

Thursday 6/18

Tomorrow, I shall sleep until 8 am and it will be glorious. Circulation feels sluggish today. I think I'm just spent.

On Being Like, "Yep, I Failed," with a Smile

I find, for me, that there are two ways to accept failing.

One way can go like this:

I end up eating too much sugar and feeling bloated (hence the dandelion tea pictured above), depressed, agitated, and generally blhargish. WebMD convinces me I have candida poisoning and then I feel worse that I have failed so much in the most basic act of eating. Then, I sit around reading more Internet articles. I don't do any writing, none of my weight training or yoga. On and on. It's a vicious cycle (you say to yourself in the voice of Fat Bastard from Austin Powers).

Another way:

I say, "Yeah, I done effed that up." And leave it at that. And, move on.

American culture and lexicon really over-focuses on "wins." It zeros in way too much on rewarding accomplishments and achievements, the ways in which people succeed and beat the competition. And, when we fail, there's very seldom any encouragement to reflect. We're told to immediately get up, brush the dust off, and try again.

But, I don't know, maybe we can find more strength in accepting that we simply suck as some things?

Trying over and over to "win" at something  you repeatedly fail at that doesn't make you happy is very liberating.

For me the biggest thing that I have willingly packed away has been my Chloe + Isabel merchandising.

In short, it's a job that  requires a lot of things I don't have, mainly starting capital, easily accessed customers fitting the demographic, and a salesperson's personality. As far as a salesperson goes, I'm kind of like the hunting dog that befriends the bunny rather than running it down.

I was spending way more money than I was making in c + i, and I was really not willing to converse with the demographic (what I would describe as suburb-bound stay-at-home moms with disposable income...not me at all). I don't see the merit in spending time and money (because a lot of these places they'll host a part are accessible only by car) trying to be someone I'm not. There was also an TON of overly-positive talk within the merchandiser groups. Too many exclamations points, too many empty "you can do its." Just too much. So, I stopped the hustle. Phew. Now, I know I'm really not a good salesperson. :)

Knowing what you're not good at (and that you won't be good at everything), is as important as fine tuning and celebrating what you are good at. What does that mean to you?

When You Find the Perfect Picture to Express How You Feel

It's like magic.

Marathon Training Week One

Sunday, June 7

My style usually consists of black this, black that, and some polka dots. But when I'm running, I'm like tropical bird, bitch.

Today was spent running 6 miles from our apartment to roughly SE Glastone and SE 25th in Portland. It was a HOT day, almost 90. I did the right thing and followed my husband (who is adorably milky-white and freckly) in slathering myself head to two (even under the mesh panels of my top) with 55 SPF sunscreen. Not only did I get a nice little toast, but I sweated my ass off and it felt amazing.

My biggest takeaway from this run was seeing my husband, who also is training with me, enjoy his run so much. He hasn't been running lately and was worried about jumping right into a relatively big 6 miles. As he declared mile 5, he seemed giddy and proud. Those feelings radiated straight onto me and I felt so happy for him.

Tuesday, June 9

Today my morning run took place at one of my favorite places in the world - the beach. During a short last-minute trip to Seaside, OR, I took the opportunity to run 3 miles on their oceanfront Promenade as friendly fellow runners and strollers all said "hello."

Above is the sea grasses making up part of the expansive shore with the northern side of Tillamook Head in the foggy distance. Sign, the fresh sea air!

Wednesday, June 10

Another day on the beach! Oh! Life is hard! But not today. Half of my 3 miles were done again on the Promenade, but then I just had to get on the sand. This beach's broad span and the low tide made it easy to run on firm sand. While it doesn't offer a lot to beachcombers, there's still a lot of lovely sights.

Thursday, June 11

Back in Portland, I did my 3 miles on a typical route that I usually take, which leads me to the closest public fountain I know of to me, at SE 60th and Division. I love these things!

Week one down.

Why therunway+ Is the Best New Site You Should Know About

 I've talked about my recent realization that, "Hey, I'm making all of my income on writing," and I'm excited to talk about my latest gig! Check out my first post with therunway+!

The therunway+ sells designer plus-size fashions from a range of retailers (Target to Kate Spade) alongside helpful content that today's woman wants to know about.

I'm excited about this opportunity with because  therunway+ is the kind of work that would stand out on the resume of a woman content writer today. It's it's relevant, on the pulse, and empowering.

You'll probably notice the clever language in therunway+ drop down menu. Let me put on my copywriter glasses and wax poetic on it (Just so we're clear, I had nothing to do with the development of the static site copy).

I love that they dubbed the blog "Front Row." You"ll notice regs photographed while sitting at the front row of couture shows - untouchables like Anna Wintour, "Kimye," a budding actress who made friends with a designer. Well, everyone ought to be invited to the front row!

Which leads to their motto, best summed up in the hashtag #FashionForAll. I encourage you to check out their philosophy. And, when you do, you'll see why this is a site you'll want to add to your daily feed.

So, I'm Running a Marathon

 

After my last race, the Healdsburg Half Marathon in wine county (wine.country.), I still thought I'd never do a full marathon. Then I moved, changed my schedule and lifestyle to a degree that made running regularly difficult. I took a month off to heal up, but lost some of my physical strength, and constantly felt blah. And, I got depressed. 

 

It took me a bit to realize it, but part of why I was down was because I wasn't running! One afternoon I decided to just go for a half hour at a slow pace just to get some blood flowing. I ended up running my first mile in only about 10 minutes, and I came back with a clear head and lots of creative ideas for a story I've been writing for months. In short, I felt good again. 

 

Everything about my experience running - the zen-like focus, building up of physical and mental strength run after run, the joy of being alone and doing basically nothing and everything - came back to me. I needed a race to work up to. When I discovered in April that the Portland marathon was in October, I realized it was a sign of something. 

So, I signed up. I hand wrote calendars of training schedules. And, I felt really good again. 

Tomorrow is my first official marathon-training run. It's only six miles (which is easy to moderate for me), but I'm thrilled that it's a part of yet another running journey for me. A freaking marathon? 

In May I eased into my training with light runs, lots of yoga, and resistance training. This picture above is from my last run and it was taken from the top of the highest steps at Mount Tabor in Portland, about two miles from my apartment. Since I don't have access to an elliptical, I'm trying to build up my legs and butt with stairs like the ones at Mount Tabor. It's hard, but the view is all worth it. 

I want to try to share a picture for each week of training and hopefully share it here! Maybe I'll have something insightful, maybe not. But, here we go.

How To Be a Writer Today (This Post Contains Little Fluff)

Image snapped from The 22 Day Revolution book.

When I go to author talks or writing conventions at least one doe-eyed student still discovering her voice asks, "How do I really become a writer?" 

Sorry, but, that question always makes me groan.

I've mentioned Cheryl Strayed's take on that, in which she basically says to be a writer you must write. I've really grasped tightly to that sentiment since I read it only a few months ago. I don't always stick to it. I have whined and cried about the fact that I've not done the amount of writing I wanted to since moving to Portland.

But, I have been paying the rent with other writing, and I'd say that's a success. Here are my four tips for living as a writer, and I won't sugar coat it. 

1. Think about yourself.

I was inspired to live a “year of Me.” That allowed me to say, "I want to do these hours over those," and "I want to do this project over that one," at work. I just went and said it, and no one died, no one criticized, and no one said, "nope." You'll be surprised how well others respond when you unapologetically speak up for yourself. 

2. Deal with it

On the other hand, you still have to work hard. And you just have to work hard. I took a very flexible hourly, but permanent, writing job so that I can spend my time as I pleased. For a while it worked Okay. I declared my hours to be 10-4, Monday through Thursday. It was a fantasy I always had that I made a reality by doing what I described above.

However, I started running out of money! While I really like my job, I had to face the fact that I either needed to take on my hours, get other freelance gigs, or start looking for a full-time salaried job that is more on par with my skill level. So far, I've been lucky. I found side gigs thanks to good ol’ ModCloth peeps and thanks to tirelessly sending resume/cover letter/writing sample after resume/cover letter/writing sample. 

I got many headaches. I cried many tears. But, I'm telling you, you just gotta deal with it.

3. You suck at some things

Admit it. Do it. Done? Now, do you feel a weight lifted? I hope so. 

It's never a bad thing to be honest about your skills, especially if an expectation is set by a hiring manager. For example, if you're hired on to write headlines because you're an ace at them, then get asked to craft press releases but have no idea how to write a press release, say so. Maybe you'll be asked to give it a shot and all will end well. Or, maybe you know you're just not at all interested in PR writing and know you won't be able to deliver as well as, say a colleague of yours - Say so! (Bonus tip - supporting your peers makes you look good.)

When you're honest and forthcoming, you'll impress more than if you build yourself up or take on too much. Be an expert in one thing, not a dilettante, and make that all work for you.

4. Count your lucky stars

I mention above that I've been lucky in nailing what I have. But, it's not just random dumb luck. Years ago I worked hard to get a job at ModCloth. I made many friends there who I regularly recommend for work and in turn they've come to trust me as a source for great work. 

So, if you're sitting around wondering why you're not getting any work or getting anyone to read your brilliant pieces, try to make a few friends. Everyone has got to know someone, and chances are you know personally or know of a writer or someone in the field you want to break into who you can make a connection with. Then, you'll be saying years down the line, "I was so lucky to know this person who helped me succeed."

Here's another way of looking at luck. In this piece, Creating Your Own Luck, the author points out that sagaciousness is will open the door to opportunities of luck.

In conclusion? Don't be like me. Don't spend time whining, crying, and watching old Homestar Runner while nursing your headache and not doing much else. If you avoid those things and remember the above, you'll do way better than me! Good luck. :)

2014 Was the Year of the Living Dead

Is there is an astrologist who can show me the jagged map the stars and planets traversed this year so that we can all understand why it was so fucked up? I'll take anything, even a hokey astrology chart. For some, including myself, it could have been worse. For others it was the worst it could get. A lot of good things, foundations in our lives, folded abruptly and a lot of baffling injustices made any remaining faith in humanity brittle. It makes me think of George Romero's remarkable Night of the Living Dead.

I first saw it late one night in the early 2000s while still in high school. I lived in Penn Hills, a large suburb of Pittsburgh, next door to Monroeville where one of the nation's first malls still lives, where the follow-up to NOTLD, Dawn of the Dead, was filmed. NOTLD was also filmed in the then-rural areas East of the city in Allegheny and Westmorland counties. These were places pocked with lose towns populated by farmers, volunteer firefighters, coal miners, steel mill workers, and all of their mothers and who had last names that ended in -cci, -sky, and Gentile -ann. A UFO crashed in one of these towns in the early 60s, but that's another story.

I rediscovered NOTDL after stumbling upon the above video. If you haven't seem the movie yet, maybe you shouldn't sit down and watch it here, but it's still a pretty cool video. The user must have thought it was clever to couple the film with The Suburbs album's lyrical theme, I'm sure. I find it a little too obvious. The music doesn't match rhythmically with the movie, but at times it works in a disturbing, off way. At times, the deceptively upbeat and polished indie rock clashes a little too well impending doom on screen.

Yeah, if I could sum up NOTLD in one word, it'd be DOOM.

When I first saw my opportunity to see it back in the early 2000s, I assumed a gory zombie flick, a kitschy teen scream film that might have accepted it was bad at the time. I was surprised by how sophisticated the storytelling is and enthralled by its terrifying embers that explode in the last few minutes. It's GOOD. The film reveals what it's really about in its last moments, and it's like waking from a nightmare of magical mayhem into brutal, real life swathed in unforgiving sunlight.

I'm debating over whether I want to get into it with a spoiler or not. Okay, I'm not. I think you should just watch it and discuss.

So, what is Night of the Living Dead about? What or who is the real enemy in Night of the Living Dead? Will 2015 be the year of the Dawn of the Dead?

On Practice, Patience, and Persistence / Knitting, Running, and Writing

I have quiet hobbies because I'm a quiet person. For a year now I've finally been learning music, succeeding mainly on the quirky, very simple, Omnichord. Expressing myself through music is scary to me. Me making noise kind of scares me. Drawing attention to myself is something I never consider doing, and when it happens I shrink back into a shell. And, I'm Okay with that. I'm just a quiet person. I'm a lone wolf with a pair of knitting needles.

Music is a challenge I'm amazed at myself for doing at all. I wouldn't have gotten to this point were it not for the hobbies I naturally took up and which have formed who I am now, a person who can do anything if she embraces three things: practice, patience, and persistence.

Practice, patience, and persistence depend on each other. They form a shining circle, a feedback loop. For a number of years I've been writing, knitting, running, pushing myself through each of them (in varying degrees, however) because of the in-the-moment joy they stir up. Here are my reflections on my hobbies. Perhaps you can relate?

Practice

Fundamentally, knitting is performing an action over and over and over. I picked up knitting in the summer of 2005 on a whim. It was trendy at the time, and Target sold a starter kit with plastic number ten needles (which I understand now were of very low quality), pink eyelash yarn (a fad that was a terrible yarn to learn on), and a confusing tutorial DVD. I bought it the day I borrowed my dad's car to distract myself from the commencement of my grandmother's health decline and the angry absence of my brother. The car ran out of gas less than a mile from home. Whoops.

For almost ten years now, I've been learning knitting and I'll never stop learning. There are always many more miles of yarn to manipulate with untried stitches, alternative techniques, and new patterns. And, as long as lace knitting remains difficult, I'll be learning that forever. Cables look hard, but they're actually fairly easy. Lace knitting looks hard and IS hard. Each individual stitch requires full attention, even the ones in rows of straight purls. I've been trying to do the Stitch n Bitch Sweetheart Sweater for a few days now. I've started it over three times, and I'm going to have to go for a fourth now. The full lace pattern occurs over 10 rows and I've yet to complete the round more than twice. My piece looks like the ugliest slice of Swiss cheese you'll never eat. This is how every lace knitting project for me goes. I've never completed a lace project.

A pin-hole photo of my knitting from 2006.

This time, with all that I've been experiencing, I am able to really look at that wonky piece of work and see how much I've actually done at all, not only what I'm doing wrong. I managed to complete one set of the pattern only to get halfway through the next to see that the stitches aren't lining up, and no matter what I do that isn't ripping out the done rows, it doesn't look right. But, I managed to complete one set. I practiced that ridiculous pattern over three times now, and I'm only getting better.

I may not finish this sweater. Maybe I will and it will represent some sort of achievement. And, maybe I'll never wear it. But, right now, it's reminding me how much practice makes a difference. With every new turn at this damn sweater, I get better. With every mile I run, I can breath smoother, with every draft I write I get closer to making a connection with other weirdos out there.

Patience 

You can't practice well on a deadline. Lately, I've felt pressed for time. Deadlines have formed out of my own theories and ifs. My phone isn't on silent, yet it sits next to me and I keep checking it for a call I hope to get in time for...something. The phone utters no peep. True, I'd like to be out of my current apartment and into a cheaper one before a certain time, but it's no tragedy if I'm not, only a struggle if one other thing doesn't happen. etc. Overall, there's a dread in my chest simply because I'm trudging through uncharted territory right now.

When I moved into my first very own apartment in 2006, a fresh college grad, I decided I would become a runner. I bought bad tennis shoes at Payless, neglected warm-ups and stretching, and barely considered a training plan. I was out of breath before I started. That didn't last long. The second time I tried taking it up, in 2010 during my early years living in San Francisco, I made the same mistakes again. Both times I had the urge to jump out and run. Fast. Deep inside, it wasn't out of a desire to be healthier or thinner, to be a winner in some timed race. I had something inside of me that was trying to bust out and would only swell uncomfortably when I rushed into easing this restlessness.

When my husband wanted to get in on the running action, he smartly did his research. We started with the attainable Couch to 5k program and it only got better from there. Today, I'm about a quarter of the way through training for a marathon. A fucking marathon, sons of bitches. And, I WANT do to it.

It's probably going to take me over five hours to complete a marathon. I've finished my last half in two hours and thirty-eight minutes. Most of the my I practice running with music blaring, which gets me in the zone and transforms those miles into minutes flying by. During races runners are encouraged to keep the headphones off for safety reasons, but it's also exhilarating to be aware of the party of thudding feet around you. Even without music, during a good race the miles and the minutes fly by. Your mind becomes still while your body is flying.

Now, maybe half of all of my runs are this Zen-like. Of the half that aren't, I usually want to give up on. It's boring and painful. I'm acutely aware of the damage I'm doing to all the bones in my back, knees, shins, feet. Unable to breath into my stomach while my neck and shoulders constrict like I'm a turtle hunching into its shell. I'm saying very eloquently in my head as I look at the time, "Oh come ooooooon mother fuckers!" Sometimes I finish one of these runs and feel terrible.

So, how did I get to the point of wanting to run a marathon? Patience! Whether I run an eleven or a fourteen minute mile, It takes time to finish one. It takes time to complete the nine mile loop. It takes time to reach the point where you can push through the boring miles and truly want to keep going past mile 13.1. I've always been pretty patient and have been able to tolerate long lines, waits for tables and stuff like that. But I've never been so graceful in waiting for answers to where my life will be in a month, a year, five years. Waiting to know if the other shoe will drop or if whatever it is I'm anxious about today will resolve itself. The difference between dealing with the anxiety of waiting five years ago and dealing with it now is that I can think of the patience I'm forced to face when completing a big run. You'll get there. It will be there when you get there. It will end and you'll have a new perspective after it's over. If it's not what you wanted, then you try next time.

Persistence 

But it's true, practice does make perfect--if you can accept perfection as never reaching an endpoint. I like that philosophy, but I do bulk at it when I think of my writing. I said last week that my writing is like a succulent, growing very slowly. Of the hobbies I'm discussing here, writing is the act I do the least. Perhaps because it's not a hobby. It's my calling. It's just what I do. I regard it the highest inside of myself. It's the most mercurial--an idea burns hotly just before I fall asleep only to be completely forgotten the next time I'm by a pen and paper. It mocks me when I draw blanks, It disappoints. It hurts. I really fucking hate it sometimes.

While I'm persistent in my running programs, working my schedule around miles, and I'm persistent in getting that crazy pattern just right even if I retire by the time it happens, I'm just not quite there in my writing. I can't seem to tame it so that I regularly write. I'm trying now, yet again. Every January I come up with a plan. Every following November I ignore NanoWriMo emails. Maybe going back to school will help, maybe letting go and being wild in my writing habits will if I had a better memory. Maybe I just have to quit bitching and do it.

But, persistence. If I can do it running, dragging my high school gym class self through a marathon, counting every single little stitch in a lacy sweater, I should theoretically be able to complete the writing dreams I've had for most of my life.

In conclusion of sorts, I thought of a cool tattoo idea honoring my hobbies and their virtues. In the meantime, please encourage me to keep writing, even if you don't like this blog. :P I encourage you to embrace practice, patience, and persistence the next time you feel frustrated, anxious, overwhelmed, inadequate. As Counselor Troi says in Star Trek TNG "Decent Part I," "Feelings aren't positive and negative. They simply exist. It's what we do with those feelings that becomes good or bad." Q might consider that "pedantic psychobabble," but I think it's Okay for now. TNG rules.

3 in 30: Why I Must Do.My.Art.

Airplanes make you think.

I knew from the start that I'd have a hard time keeping up with my 3 in 30 project. I dislike my habit of losing steam. I knew that my last installment would be based around the concept of "careering" and I knew I needed time to really think about it. This third part is based on a realization I had while running (see #12 here). It's about what I NEED to do with as far as a job or a "job," but I also knew that I would take it up clumsily.

But, I am going to do it. I just have to. I must. It's hard. So, I take a diamond of advice from Cheryl Strayed--"Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig."

But very simply, what I without-a-doubt gotta do is, "do my art." My crude little mantra bounced into my head as my feet rounded a Northeastern curve of Lake Merced. All of my life I've been storytelling, crafting, considering, making up, thinking, scribbling, throwing, creating. Like many of us, I did it so much more when I was younger--wondering in a couch-cushion fort at age four and wondering at four a.m. in my college dorm. I made a promise to myself sometime in high school after waking from a dream with an idea. In the middle of the night, I flicked on my lamp and write down the idea, which I've completely forgotten, and lay wide awake for hours after. During that time, I promised that I would always try my wild ideas, write them down while saying "fuck it" to sleep if I had to, share them with the world. No excuses. For the most part, that hasn't happened to me in about six or seven years. About the time when I started working full time. I broke my own promise to myself. Let myself down.

My favorite succulent, which grows as slowly the rest.

I'm happy with the small, but growing, body of work out there that a few people might have read. And, when I say growing, I mean it's growing like succulents. Over a happy spring, you'll notice how quickly tulips and daffodils bloom and wilt. But succulents take their time. Sometimes they turn ruddy and gaunt but then a brilliant storm fills them and they're verdant and voluptuous again. They grow slowly and deliberately. That's my writing. I love it, I don't tend to it enough, and yet I'm blessed with a storm every so often. It's time for me to take those storms into my own hands.

I feel terrified that I will keep making excuses and never sacrifice luxurious comforts to do it.

"Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig."

-Cheryl Strayed

Right before Christmas I lost my job to company-wide layoffs. I knew about it the day before my 31st birthday, so I had two months to prepare to be jobless, to get myself psyched up for a month or so of freedom. Of visiting family, packing and cleaning my apartment, sleeping in, preparing elaborate lunches for myself followed by elaborate dinners for my husband and I, running a wandering we'll-see-far-I-can-go route and possibly ending up somewhere in San Mateo county only to drag myself back to San Francisco on the CalTrain stinky, achy, and more badass than ever, and writing, writing, writing every other hour of the endless days. I had two months to plot all of this, my "do my art" life plan. 

Since being jobless, I feel like I'm running on a hamster wheel. I'm tired but can't get off the wheel. The anxiety that I might miss a job or an apartment opportunity if I don't apply immediately and then the guilt when I can't bare to write a third or fourth cover letter in one day or speak on the phone about all of my alternative income. Guilty when I just want spend the day reading. The embarrassment and frustration I aim at myself when I see that I've made a mistake. Uploaded the wrong cover letter to the wrong posting. Spelled "messenger bag" incorrectly in a writing sample. All of this is self imposed. (Ah, I said it!)

Why am I like this? I'm the girl who always does her work on time and works hard enough to justify or earn free time. The little girl whose parents were told by her teachers "I wish I could keep Angela in my class forever!" and whose parents tell her "We're so lucky to have you." The girl who disappoints when she fails Algebra and lies about where she was after school.

I'm flying to the East Coast to meet my niece for the first time. Today is her first birthday. My parents are getting older, too. I found round-trip ticket from coast to coast for under $300. And, I mean, it's not like I have a job (but I keep thinking that my job is to find a job, and by the California EDD expectations it is, but even that job has got to have weekends and vacation, right? Gah!), so I can travel for a few days and see my family while I can. While they're young and healthy.

As I waited at the gate for boarding, I watched a woman across from me knit. If you know me, you know that my other quiet hobby after running and writing is knitting. This woman had those beautiful wooden, rainbow stained needles I covet and was speedily forming a fluffy ivory-colored sweater. If you know me, you're wondering why I didn't bring my own knitting. I thought, as the woman set down her needles pointing precariously upward, that knitting needles were illegal on planes. Only terrorists carry knitting needles onto planes, right? That's what I thought, and I thought I was just following the rules. Always such a good girl, following the rules.

I've been following rules that don't exist.

The girl that always followed the rules.

Inspired by my friend Megan's recent post on the one word blog challenge, I am taking one up. My word is short and sweet. It's ME. I choose it because I'm afraid of not doing what I want, what I know I should do, what is purely me. I fear that I'll end up putting all of my efforts and skills into full-time, well-paying job and feel empty by five p.m. That I should just "quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock" to borrow an Arcade Fire lyric. That I'm selfish for not contributing my skills to society (the workforce). I'm afraid of missing a job posting that could offer me stability and that I'll actually take it and be miserable.

So what am ME doing about this? I'm reminding myself that it's "Okay to take a break," as my husband lovingly and calmly told me over and over after my freak out last evening. I'm leaving my planner and three other job-related notebooks at home when I got out. I'm not going apply for 1 single job or look at Craigslist for even 1 apartment in Portland or anywhere. I'm going to make my own hours, eat BBQ at the Charlotte airport in about three hours, and anticipate seeing my niece's kind little grin in person and be that guy who Instagrams the heck out of it. If I drive anywhere, maybe I'll run a red light. WHO KNOWS. THE GLOVES ARE OFF. WATCH OUT SOCIETY AND HIDE YOUR STUPID RULES.

I must rekindle my promise. I will carve out significant time to work on that project that is truly unique and not yet existing in the world. What is truly ME.

In long-distance running, when you want to finish a certain amount of miles and feel like you can't, you do. You don't stop. You mine the coal. You do your art.

My 2015 is about me, but really it's about "do my art."

How about you?