The Sex and the City Guide to Copyblogging – (Copyblogger post)

Originally posted on Copyblogger

I’ve always been of the opinion that if Carrie Bradshaw had popped onto our television screens in 2010 instead of 1998, she would have been a blogger. But alas, she didn’t, so she wrote a (gasp!) print column for the fictional New York Star newspaper.

Yes, before there were blogs, there were newspaper columns – where readers couldn’t talk back or share good content. ‘Carrie the blogger’ would have been huge.

Though the words of Carrie and her cohorts have not been etched in permalink stone, their messages linger on. And despite the fact that Carrie was allergic to the internet and only used her Apple Powerbook for word processing her articles, the lessons, ideas and, more pointedly, the actual quotes that came barreling out of Sex and the City still speak directly to us Copybloggers.

“You sleep with someone, all of a sudden you start rationalizing all of the red flags away.”

Now, hopefully, you aren’t sleeping with your clients, readers or other bloggers (on a regular basis). Typically, the copybloggers’ dangling carrot (no pun intended, I swear) isn’t sex, it’s money….

Hop on over to Copyblogger to finish reading this post, yo.

(And I haven’t forgotten the non-hoopla post…it’s coming!)

Image credit: 22

Cherry ChapStick, Resilience and Non-Hoopla

I had another post planned for today, but I feel totally compelled to write about our surgery experience – and yes, it does have something to do with writing, because it has something to do with life – and life seeps into everything. And by everything, I mean everything.

So, for those of you that don’t know, my four year-old daughter had surgery yesterday. Not a heart transplant, mind you, they just removed her adenoids and put tubes in her ears. But, she did have general anesthesia and a lovely anti-nausea and narcotics cocktail.

Things you see in hospitals

She did great. First, she was thrilled to have her moms to herself this morning. But, then we got to the hospital. I saw an elderly (to be honest, half-dead looking) woman being gurney-ed by and I tried to distract Sophie, but to no avail. She maneuvered and watched and absorbed…and I think that was the moment when she started to cling to me with all she had.

And then, a scary looking nurse who looked like she hadn’t eaten anything but Mary Kay products since 1984 took us into the changing room and poured her cold demeanor all around us like lighter fluid on an arson’s target. Soph started to cry shriek and wouldn’t let us undress her. Not even the kitties on her teeny, tiny scrubs could get her to budge. Promises of popsicles and ice cream finally did.

More TV references

The worst part for me was seeing Sophie’s fear and hearing her cry. I had weird Ally McBeal type visions of throwing my baby to the wolves. How could I voluntarily put her in a scary and painful situation? Oh, yeah. Because she was already in a painful situation and this would help. So, I mommed up and put on just about the sexiest moon suit you’ve ever seen so that I could go into the OR with Sophie until she was soundly drugged sleeping.

Mystical ChapStick

And then, the nurse did something so magically enthralling – my head is still spinning. Pay close attention because I can’t figure out what her trick was…so maybe you can: She showed Soph the little mask that she’d wear while she was getting gassed (What?! That’s essentially what was going to happen!) and then, wait for it, she took out a tube of cherry flavored ChapStick. She smeared red goo all over the inside of the clear mask and handed it to Sophie who instantly put it over her nose and mouth and delighted in sniffing fake cherry, talking to all of us through the mask and trying to look down at it with cross eyes.

I carried her into the OR, mask still voluntarily glued to her face. We met the nurses and I put her on the bed. Mind you, she’s still holding the mask securely on. The anesthesiologist attached the hose and suddenly she’s acknowledging that it might not smell quite as good now. Sophie keeps the mask on. Then he tells her that it might make her laugh, this new smell in the mask. So I start singing, “I love to laugh’ from Mary Poppins (because my plan when they told me that they were going to start and my baby was freaking out was to sing to her – like I was sung to 4 years and 3 months ago – the last time Sophie and I were in an operating room together).

But they hadn’t given me any warning. I was joining this program already in progress.

There was one moment when, I imagine, the room began to swirl around her that Sophie’s eyes widened and she pushed herself towards me (mask still firmly affixed by her own hand) and called out ‘Ma J!’(that would be my name according to my children) in a fairly concerned and scared voice. And I kept singing and stroking her hair and smiling into her eyes, until they closed.

And she’s out

At which point I burst into tears and begged the nurses to take care of my baby. They said they would – one remarking that they didn’t want the responsibility of hurting her in anyway. I think this was a joke, but it was a strange one. Right?

Forty minutes later, while we refused to think about anything but the Olympics on TV in the waiting room, they called us back in. We could hear her crying from the hall. She was PISSED. And confused and totally disoriented. She wanted my water, she wanted the IV out, she wanted to go home, she wanted – and this is an educated guess – to feel normal and not so damn uncomfortable.

Finally, the nurse narcotized her via the IV in what I can only imagine is akin to what they do to belligerent mental patients. Soph fell sound asleep for 45 minutes and woke up covering her ears because for the first time in about two years, her ears were no longer filled with fluid and she could hear. At that point, she sat up and told us – quite lucidly – that she had been very crabby before, but then had taken a big nap and now felt all better.

That resilience I was talking about

We threw her in the car and took off. By the time we got to the ferry, she seemed completely normal. By the time we got off the ferry she had consumed a bag of carrots, a bunch of fruit and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich…and she wanted more. By the time we got home she was jumping up and down with her brother and hugging her dogs and bossing everyone around. She had two huge plates of veggie stirfry and rice for dinner.

The hospital bracelet around her ankle was literally the only sign of her morning’s activity.

So, that’s the story, but what’re the lessons? What did we learn?

1. Well, cherry ChapStick has magical powers. I think we can all agree to that.

2. My kid kicks ass. (Come on, like you weren’t thinking that too?)

3. Resilience is awesome to watch. And it comes easily when one is full of gumption and surrounded by love.

4. But, the most important lesson was this: Practice Non-Hoopla. In other words, Don’t make a big deal out of things. Can you imagine if, when we went into the OR, they had told her what they were going to do, and said things like, ‘you might feel dizzy’ or ‘here it comes!’ or ‘we’re going to start now!’ Instead it was all very matter of fact, no frills, no alarms, no danger signs. It just sort of happened – no muss and no fuss. It was brilliant.

I’m thinking hard about how to apply this lesson to life, to my business as a copywriter, to my writing – and I’m going to break it down tomorrow…so stay tuned…

(Oh, and thanks to those of you that sent kind words and messages…your support was so, so appreciated!)

Who needs statistics when we’ve got reality.

While many of my friends spent our junior year abroad in exotic places like Florence, Tanzania, Nepal, Paris and Argentina, I opted for the wilds of St. Louis, MO.

My main gig was volunteering at a domestic violence agency where I researched and wrote the organization’s history, taught dating violence prevention in local schools and worked on the 24-hour crisis hotline. And in order to do this terrifying and terribly important hotline work, I went through an intense and long training program.

• I learned why women stay in abusive relationships when it seems so obvious to the rest of us that they should leave.
• I learned that violence is a vicious cycle.
• And, I learned a number of statistics.

Most of theses numbers have stuck in my brain like gnarly, nasty pieces of chewed gum stuck under the lunch table – ugly to look at, hard to touch, easy to pretend they aren’t there. One of the stats goes like this: The day with the highest rate of domestic violence in the U.S. is Super Bowl Sunday.

Colts vs. Saints

Two days ago, as I sat at my computer working and occasionally watching the Facebook and Twitter streams of Super Bowl brouhaha pass me by, I found it hard to ignore this stuck-in-my-head statistic. I felt rising panic at what was likely going on as the Colts looked good…and then really bad, as the alcohol was consumed, as the chips ran out, as the bets were lost.

So, I put up a tweet and a FB status update telling people about the stat and offering up the number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline. 1-800-799-SAFE (7233), or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY)

What happened next utterly, totally and completely floored me.

Some women, women, came after me. They said the stat was bogus. One said, and I quote: “That is an unfounded myth propogated by the media and womens activist groups. Set the record straight.” (spelling/grammar errors are listed verbatim)

Can you imagine? Women-centric activist groups having the nerve to tell the world that on a day when alcohol, tension and the chance for losing large sums of money are high, there is a greater incidence of domestic violence? The horror. Don’t get me started on the idea that these groups have been lumped in with ‘the media’.

I’ve since learned there are many sides to the validity of the actual stat.

This comment also included the following quote, “On January 31, 1993, when Ken Ringle of The Washington Post questioned the information mentioned in the press release, other news media quickly retracted their articles covering the domestic violence story. The damage was done. The myth continues and Super Bowl Sunday is still sometimes referred to as Bloody Sunday, Abuse Bowl, a Day of Dread, and the Most Dangerous Day in America.”

The damage was done. Yes. Citizens of this country were once again made to look at the fact that women and children are beaten in their own homes every single day by the people who are supposed to love and cherish them. And how dare we disrupt Super Bowl Sunday with this blasphemy! Oh holy, holy day!

My question is, who cares about the validity of this stat? IS THIS WHAT WE SHOULD BE WASTING OUR BREATH ARGUING ABOUT? Domestic Violence is true, real, happening  - right now. And what made these women flare up against me and my status update about this? It confounds me!!! For heaven’s sake, use your breath to help someone, not squabble over what Snopes says!

And how can we believe that information from Ken Ringle up above. Hello? How many lies are we fed every day by industries with ulterior motives!?! I mean, do you really think Cheerios will save you from getting heart disease? PLEASE!!! The fight against the Super Bowl stat is based in the fact that it is a huge day for advertisers and TV: ‘Don’t fuck it up for us with your downer information, thank you’ is, I believe, their message.

My mom

My mother, bless her, has spent roughly 20 years of her life tirelessly working to bring awareness to and raise money for the ugly reality of domestic violence – and she isn’t done yet. Having retired from her role as Development Director, she’s now taking the training again so that she’s up to date and ready to again volunteer on the crisis hotline at Safe Connections in St. Louis.

In her training session this past Saturday (the day before the Big Game), someone (coincidentally) asked about the Super Bowl statistic. And the Director of the hotline said there’s a lot of discrepancy about the statistic. But that the organization personally tracks all of their calls, and every year, every year calls and DV reports spike on Super Bowl Sunday and the entire week that follows.

Statistic are hard to get. Especially when they surround an issue that people keep quiet, viciously undercover – so they don’t get arrested (the abuser) or so that they don’t get killed by their abuser (the abusee). Another stat: the chance an abused woman will be killed by her abuser if she tries to leave the situation increases roughly 75%.

What we do know is that an agency in downtown St. Louis, Missouri (middle America, right in the heartland) has their own stats. And they aren’t good.

If you or someone you know is being hurt, please reach out. Everyone deserves to be safe.

1-800-799-SAFE (7233), or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY)

Image credit: sinosplice

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo meets Writing Roads (another girl with a tattoo or three)

I’m bad at picking books to read at the bookstore, you know, when it’s just me and shelves of beautifully packaged words. Apparently I missed that gene. I get swayed by the cover or the fact that the author’s name kind of looks like mine and I’m blinded by the dream of being published. Anywho, the ones I pick up on my own almost always disappoint.

Thank the good lord, I’m very good at taking book orders recommendations.

I might be a little annoying about it too. I ask a million questions, like: Do any animals get hurt? (I literally can’t take it) and Is it scary? and How fast, exactly, do you think I’ll be able to read it? (Because the world has to stop until I finish). I like to get the full review before I invest my time and I like to know what I’m getting myself into it. I demand full ‘word of mouth’ service.

As a result, I end up with superb books. Books that smart people told me I had to read. Or else.

Even though I like girls with tattoos…

And so it was with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. First of all, I never would have picked this book up on my own. Even though I like girls with tattoos, I’m not into dragons. And it’s a murder mystery type of book, not my usual genre. But, my parents – who have a superb reading record (I did get that gene) – gave it to me for Christmas. And I saw their eyes light up when I ripped the wrapping paper away. And I knew that even though this book promised some unpleasant subject matter, and even though it started out with a lot of hooha about banking and business (yawn) – this book was going to be a keeper.

Turns out, it’s a trilogy: The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire and The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest. Adding to the intrigue is that the author, Stieg Larsson, died of a heart attack right after he handed in his manuscripts. He has no idea that he’s sold millions of books, that this book is becoming a raving hit and that three movies have been made based on the trilogy. A writer’s life is just full of ironical detours, eh?

Is fiction ever really fiction?

There’s also more intrigue in that his life oddly mirrors much of his protagonist’s life. You know how I love when art imitates life and when fiction isn’t really all that fictional. And, for the geeky among us, this is the first book I’ve read where modern technology (laptops, email, the internet, hackers) are seamlessly interwoven into the story without seeming artificial.

My latest GIG…

And then the planets collided and I was hired to do the social media marketing campaign for the first movie. The author, the books and the movie are all Swedish, and they’ve reached cult status overseas, both the books and the movie have won prestigious awards over there. My campaign over here is going to be very bloggy. I’m staging a mystery for readers to solve across the blogosphere...so stay tuned. You could win premier tickets, meet-ups with the actual girl with the dragon tattoo, shirts, books…the whole bit.

I think books are best found through word of mouth…and now I’ve been charged with the task of putting this book into as many wordy mouths as humanly possible. How cool is that?

And, between you and me, the book is that good. So, read it. Or else. And then, tell everyone you know about it. Or else. And then, go see the movie. Or else. And then, tell everyone you know to see it. You know, or else.

Posing Nude, part 1

In my life, I’ve woken up to many things: dogs wanting to go outside, babies crying, dorm fire alarms going off, delightful lovers, the announcement that the plane was about to land. But this morning was a first. I woke up to a text, from my painter friend – Traeger, that said, “Would you consider modeling nude for my drawing class?”

You’ll be thrilled to know that my very first thought was, I can write about this!

The reality is that I’m totally game. I mean, what do I spend my time here writing about anyway? Life really, as a writer. Exploring the experiences of life through words. And this, my friends, will certainly be an experience.

It took me a couple of hours to acknowledge the ‘nude’ part of the equation. Wait…nope…yeah, no…I haven’t quite let that sink in yet. I’m too caught up in the rest of it.

Like the fact that they think it’s a great idea if I bring my laptop and pose with it – so that I can write while I pose, so that I can live tweet this experience. Like the fact that one of the artists is kind of a big deal. Like the fact that I will be doing something I’ve never done before, something that requires cajones. Like the fact that I’ll get paid (that doesn’t make me a hooker, right?).

Just one last question, do you think I’m really going to have to take my clothes off?

Stay tuned…’cause obviously there’s going to be a part deux.

Image credit: apc33

Rabbis, first kisses…and other stuff

This post is dedicated to Alisa Bowman.

Good Sunday morning! I know we don’t usually meet here on Sundays, but the thing is that I’ve never really recovered from the Sunday mornings that I was forced into uncomfortable clothes and shuffled off to Sunday School. Not a Sunday goes by now that I don’t wake up and think, Awesome, I don’t have to go to Sunday School today. And it’s been 21 years since they made me go.

Look at this picture (shift your eyes up). That’s me. I was 4. Do you see how happy I was? That’s because I didn’t start Sunday School until I was 5.

It’s not that I’m against religion or anything. I mean, I believe wholeheartedly in George Michael’s treatise – you really do gotta have faith.

But Sunday School was just wrong. Let me prove it to you by listing some of my favorite moments (and, frankly, the only ones I remember) from this horrid weekly two hours that I suffered from Kindergarten through my sophomore year in high school (that’s 11 years, ELEVEN):

• Carpooling. Because it was fun when I was little to ride in a car that wasn’t mine.
• The Sundays that focused on the holidays where we got to eat (Rosh Hashana = apples and honey; Purim = hamentashen; Passover = charoseth) because they fed us on those Sundays.
• The ride home when we stopped at the deli on Wydown (Protzels) and I got to get the world’s saltiest and biggest pickle or pickled tomatoes, rye bread with corn sitzel and blow-your-mind corned beef. I ate mine with ketchup. (Does anyone see a pattern here? Clearly, my brand of Judaism revolved around food.)
• A very cute boy in my class named Sean. (Really, we’re Facebook friends and he’s even hotter now. Yes, because he’s no longer 12).
• The ‘teenage years’ when I walked in the front door of the temple, straight through the building and out the back door to meet my badass classmate who hailed from Jersey (the sketchy part) in the parking lot where we smoked and did nothing else for two hours and then walked back through the building to get picked up by our parents.

My family wasn’t very religious. True to one of the greatest coined phrases ever, we’re ‘Jew-ish’.

Oddly enough, however, one of my best childhood friends turned into a rabbi. Okay – that was kind of funny phrasing. Like he turned into a turnip or something. This was the first boy I kissed (when I was all of 5)…our moms and older brothers were best friends – and so were we. And we spent a ginormous amount of time together including every holiday, every weekend, every everything.

Mad scientist, Iditarod musher, famous musician – that’s what I figured he’d be. But, I never pegged him for the rabbinical life. Still, now, I totally get it. I understand why the Jewish faith is so important to him, why he’s taken on this amazing vocation. It’s because he didn’t have to go to Sunday School.

Read all about my old flame, Rabbi Heifetz, in a fantastic interview on The Daily Norm. Seriously. I wish I’d had a guy like this at my Sunday School…who knows, if it had been so, I, myself, might have turned into a nun.

I’m sending you off on an adventure around the blogosphere…and the importance of a landing page

Really, I am. I’m sending you elsewhere…(but just for a little field trip).

Because today, I have a post that lives on a different blog. It’s a little, teeny, tiny blog with oh, I don’t know, over 100,000 subscribers and god only knows how many daily hits. (I like to fantasize that it’s a million).

But before I send you off, I have to share an important trick of the trade that I’ve learned via this particular guest posting experience. How many times have you read a guest post on one of your favorite blogs, loved it and clicked through to the author’s site only to land on their home page or blog where you poke around directionless before either 1) subscribing because you liked the guest post so much or 2) leaving because it’s all just kind of blah or 3) finding this blogger’s blog so enthralling that you read everything they’ve ever written?

When Sonia Simone, Copybloggers’ Senior Editor, emailed me to arrange my guest post, she recommended that I create a landing page for Copyblogger traffic. Brilliant. Really, this is such a fantastic idea. I immediately created a page that my guest post bio would link back to on my site instead of just sending them to my blog url. The page tells new visitors:

• Who I am
• What I do
• Where to find the things I want them to find on my site (ebook, teleclass info, blog, services, etc.)
• Special projects

You could also include:

• Links for people to buy your products
• Favorite blog posts
• Contact information
• And on and on

I’ve seen people use landing pages for Google Ads, their Twitter (or other social media sites), conference bios, etc. It’s your landing page, you are directing the flow of traffic exactly how you want to, total control.

Guest posting is a very good thing. It’s critical for bloggers interested in growing their readership. But, ceating a landing page for new readers so they know where to go and what to do and how to get the most out of you? As I said, brilliant.

And now, without any further ado, I’d love for you to click on over to Copyblogger to read my post. And you can find my landing page here.

Thanks y’all.

Image credit: waywuwei

Geek Girl Camp 2010!!!

It’s that time again, yes, indeedy. And, I’m so excited. After a fantastic inaugural year – in which Geek Girl took off like gangbusters (on Red Bull) – I can’t wait to see what this second season brings.

What? You don’t know about Geek Girl Camp? Or the Geek Girls? Where do I begin!

1. The fabulous, brilliant, selfless, kind and energetic fireball otherwise known as Leslie Fishlock, had an IDEA.
2. She was on a mission to make sure that every woman/girl/chiquita had the opportunity to learn about tech (computers, social media, apps, programs, you name it) in a safe, non-threatening, supportive way.
3. Boom. She assembled a world-class, top-notch team (cough, cough – yes, if I do say so myself) of Geek Girls to teach, share and spread the good word.
4. Two Geek Girl Camps (GGC) exploded on the scene last spring (on Cape Cod and in Boston) offering full day seminars with loads of workshops on every technology topic imaginable at an insanely affordable price ($140) – oh, and there was a party with a signature alcoholic beverage to boot.
5. I was honored to teach 10 workshops at GGC over 2 days about blogging (how to, abc’s, finding voice, using blogs to grow your business) and social media.
6. Geek Girl for Hire was created – sending out single or multi-womaned troops to companies and organizations everywhere teaching geek and tech.
7. Operation Laptop Donation for Women was put into full effect – taking discarded laptops, cleaning them up and giving them to women (going back to school or work) in need.

The first Geek Girl Camp for 2010 has been announced, and I can’t wait to lead my blogging workshops and be a part of this phenomenalness again! I hope to see you there. Tell everyone you know. Here’s the deal (and make sure you grab the discount code at the bottom, you only have until Jan. 1st!!!):

Changing the Climate

Today is Blog Action Day when about a gazillion bloggers take to their blogs to bring awareness to a certain topic that needs attention. This year, that topic is climate change. I could write a long list of things you could do to help the environment and our beautiful planet – but this blog’s about writing, so I’m going to write about climate change and writing, capiche? Okay, here we go…

Imagine me in a bad mood. Like the one I was in yesterday afternoon, for instance. I was so irritated, in fact, that I was thinking about getting a punching bag for my office – just so I’d have something to kick on such occasions.

I had things to write that I just didn’t feel like writing, and no matter how stern a talking to I gave myself, I just couldn’t get on it. So, I started reading blogs, articles, twitter, whatever my eyes connected to.

And then, I didn’t want to kick anything anymore. And then, I was getting my work done. And then, I realized that I was in a great mood.

Writers are climate changers…in a good way. We have the power to change people – by providing insight, information, new perspectives, joy, views into unknown feelings, thoughts, places – with our words. The ways we influence and transform are endless, but tangible.

Because happy, enlightened and/or educated people tend to make better choices. Because they treat those around them well – spouses, friends, children, dogs, trees, bees. You get my point.

So, on this Blog Action Day, I’m wondering how your writing affects the climate? Yours, your reader’s, your world’s.

Image Credit: Rob

The Daily Norm

You know the big fiction fallout of ‘09? The one where I decided that fiction just wasn’t for me? Well, it sent me on a mission to capture the non-fiction, blogging and writing that I truly adore. And one of the things that I gravitate towards are other people’s stories…

Why? Because as a writer, I’ve been trained – since birth – to look at other people and write their story in my head. Seriously, have you ever met a How to Write book that doesn’t tell you to go sit in a cafe and write character sketches of everyone that walks by the window?

Yeah, well, I do this with a vengeance. And the people around me either a) beg me to stop staring, b) think I need to get a hobby, or c) jump in to the speculative fantasy with me.

Honestly, though – and this is part of the reason that I’m not writing fiction – my own fabrications are just never enough. I actually want to know the truth about the ten 20-somethings sitting around the table at the Early Girl Eatery in Asheville, NC. I want to know how old they are, where they went to college, who’s sleeping with who, who has a broken heart.

I kid you not, I’ve had friends hold me back from walking up to the table. I seriously want to know about these people, and frankly, I’m not too shy to ask.

So, I’ve found an outlet. It’s a new blog that I’ve created, and it’s called The Daily Norm wherein I talk to all different kinds of people and ask them questions about what it really is like to be them – on a normal day. They’re people that fascinate me because of what they do and how they live – and my goal is that by learning about their lives a bit, we (you and I) will be educated, informed and inspired.

I’m kicking this puppy off with interviews from an Ironman, an environmental scientist (who is presenting his model on climate control to the UN momentarily), theatrical educators and the one and only Chris Brogan.

To find out a bit more about how this all got started, you can read What is The Daily Norm? (An about page that could easily be a post on this blog…)

And if you know anyone (yourself included) that you think would be a good interview, go to Interview Fodder.

Believe me, I know we all have busy lives, so The Daily Norm will publish one interview per week. On Thursday mornings. Because I’ve always thought Thursday was the coolest day. (and Monday is Monday, Tuesday’s just kind of blah, Hump Day would be too obvious and Friday is happy enough on its own).

I cherish every single one of you…and I’m delighted to invite you over to my new pad. Thanks y’all, for checking it out.