Well, that equation works for today anyway. Because it’s my birthday. (Have I mentioned that to you? Yes, I have birthday-itis, it started at birth.) And (maybe because of my birthday?) 3 and 7 and 13 are my favorite numbers—so I’m loving the looks of that equation. It’s a thing of beauty, n’est pas?

**********************************

There is this hill on my rollerblading route.

The first time my already-rollerblading-friend, Randi, took me out last spring, I made her promise there would be no hills. “There’s only one and it’s just little,” she said. “It’s no big deal,” she said. But when we got there, it was enormous. It started high up, went quickly down, included no big, fluffy cushioning on the side, no railing—it was everything a hill should be in the middle of a forest path.

I was terrified and paralyzed. And scooched down the hill on my tush. Yes, seriously. From then on, for the next year plus, I walked down the side of the hill, in the grass and pine needles, rollerblades angled askew so that I wouldn’t roll. Once, when I wasn’t paying attention and the hill came upon me suddenly, like strep throat or mosquitoes at dusk, I even hit the eject button and threw myself on the ground to avoid the downhill motion. I’ve written about this hill before, twice.

And, in regards to said hill, that’s how I ended 35 and started 36—creeping down the side, avoiding most everything, fearful. Then, somewhere around the 36 halfway point, I let myself coast down that hill, once. I was shaking, but I did it, proudly. Still, the next time I came upon the hill, I went back to the safety of the pine needle/grass alley.

I gotta say, going the shimmy route is really not productive:

• It slows me down.
• It breaks my stride.
• I feel like an idiot.

But, what really got me is that no matter how fast I was going, how good my body felt or how great life was clicking along—when I got to the hill and stepped off the path and out of my flow to crawl granny-style down the hill, I was reminded of what I hadn’t accomplished, of my challenges, of my self-loathing, of my self-induced paralytic episodes, of my shortcomings.

Having enough

About a month ago, I got really sick of it. All of it. And I started zooming down the hill. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t get scared, I just went with it—because I’d had enough.

So, it was not lost on me yesterday, my final day of being 36—as I sailed down the hill, without a thought besides ‘how fast can I go’, relishing in my speed and the cool breeze that it garnered on yet another day that was already 75 degrees and 100% humidity at 5:30 in the morning—that 36 had been a banner year. Monumental. Soul-shuddering. In so many ways. There were firsts, lasts and astounding changes.

It started with defeat, anxiety and a refusal to budge. Blindness. Then there were a few small steps. Some high flying leaps. A dash of self-sabotage. Many, many tears. A bit of pulling back. And ultimately a total release into, and enjoyment of, the heady, fast flow.

Today, I celebrate. Tomorrow, I set out on my mission to have 37 kick 36′s ass.

Today’s image: On my favorite run, I pass this mailbox. And as attached as I am to my birthday and the numbers that signify it, I smile every time I see it. The first time I saw it nine months ago, I thought, ‘I have to take a picture of that to use on my blog on my birthday’, so, yesterday, I did. I’m so glad to share it, and a slice of my birthday, with all of you. Thank you for being here. You make me very, very happy.

P.S. I’m a terrible gift giver. But I know some of you personally and know that you have a thing for giving gifts. So, in case any of you have a deep down desire to get me something for my birthday (which you are not obligated or expected to do AT ALL) or just want to honor your reading or writing experiences, then I ask that you make a donation to RAINN in honor of that most glorious creature: Woman. Thank you…

RAINN info: here.

Donate now: here.

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So, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t think you need to be a runner, or even an athlete, to be impacted by this book. In fact, you could just be a writer or a designer or an artist or a lawyer or an architect or a human. I’m just sayin’.

Why? Because this book is about endurance running—and how it is that human’s are able to do it. How we’re able to run 100 mile races across deserts, unfathomable distances under unfathomable conditions.

And can you honestly tell me that you haven’t covered these distances in your own way, with your own unfathomable conditions? Maybe you had to write a 100 page website in two weeks and your internet kept going down and you had strep throat and then your computer crashed and you lost everything. Maybe you had 20 paintings due in 6 weeks and there was a canvas drought. Maybe you were about to represent the defense in the trial of a lifetime but your key witness suffered from laryngitis and illiteracy. Hell, we could play this game all day.

Born to Run is about the search for the ultimate run. So McDougall breaks running down and tracks it back to the beginning of human and animal-kind. Technique, energy, sustenance, equipment, support, heroes. Just like the best books on any topic—this one just happens to have legs.

McDougall wrote his book to find the answer to one question: How come my foot hurts? Finding the answer took him on the wildest of odysseys.  And, for all of you writers and readers, he is a phenomenal writer. PHENOMENAL. I felt like I was sitting in his living room while he told me his story. Nah, that’s not right—I felt like I was sitting in his lap.

He finds answers…to more than just his original question. But isn’t that just the way?

What’s your question?

• How come I can’t write?
• How come I procrastinate?
• How come no one will hire me?
• How come no one reads my blog?
• How come…
• How come…
• How come…

And how many answers to your frustrated questions have you found so far? You’re ready, but something is holding you back—WHY? And what if you (or I) also wrote an opus that searched back through time to explore the techniques, energy, sustenance, equipment, support, heroes that could teach us what we need know to move thrivingly forward? To run as though our feet were barely touching the earth and our fingers were barely touching our keyboards…

What if?

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So, I can’t help but stand in total amazement of this kid named James Brooks. I met him two years ago when I was working with my dear friend, Mathea, on her gorgeous children’s book (with an afterword by Jane Goodall!), I’m Lucy: A Day in the Life of a Young Bonobo (beware, the site is fantastic, but plays music). James was uber-dedicated to the bonobos and the plight of the creatures and people and environment of the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) then, and he still is today.

He’s raised a lot of money. He’s traveled to meet Jane Goodall and the amazing bonobos that currently live in the U.S. He’s spread awareness near and far. But, most importantly, he hasn’t given up. Quite frankly, I don’t think the kid knows what that phrase means.

This blog is about writing and living as a writer. And for me, those two things have everything to do with discovering what fills you up (body, mind, pen and soul) and then figuring out how to let it spill over, into and onto everything you do, touch, say and create. Whether that falls under the guise of writing or running or eating or painting or loving is up to you.

All I know this morning is that James is doing it, clearly and with gusto and a sticktoitedness that blows me far away. So I’m dedicating this Friday to James and his latest efforts for the DRC. Here’s what he’s up to right now (of course I made him write this in his own words – because I’m writerly like that):

I am James and I am 13 years old and I really hope you can vote for me for the 2010 “Youth in Action ME to WE Award.”

I have done all I can to help apes and the people who live near them. My 1000classrooms project gives an income to widows of Park Rangers who have been killed protecting gorillas in the Democratic Republic of the Congo; feeds hungry children; protects endangered gorillas; and saves their rainforest habitat. Also, it educates 1000’s about the threats to people, animals, and the environment in Africa.

You can read more if you visit www.1000classrooms.org.  I really want to win this award because there will be a $5000 donation and the widows, kids, and gorillas REALLY need our help. Also, it will get more attention to the horrors in the Congo and raise even more money. Your vote could save lives! Please vote here.

Thank you!

Dear, dear beloved readers. Can you imagine how fast we could make a difference for this kid – and the DRC’s children, women and animals? I say we do it…because this is the part that will only take a second, but can have a massive effect. Vote for him – and take another second to tweet and Facebook this puppy, or ape as it were.

Let’s do it for a kid whose heart is indubitably full to burst and runningeth over. And for all the kids who might not ever get the chance to fill theirs up.

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Back when I first got into this writing game (which was when I discovered reading and the fact that I had command over the alphabet…say age 5), I assumed that I would be writing books. A novelist! was my first thought.

But then it turned out it wasn’t so easy. Random House didn’t want In Fairy Land, my first bound attempt, see photo to the left. (I also designed this book – the binding and the lettering are made from old school first-aid tape. I was so resourceful! Though I was also the ultimate tomboy, so I have no idea why this thing is pink and flowery. Literally, no idea. And, by the way, Random House missed out – the story is fabulous.)

So I walked away from my publishing dreams a bit, but I never gave up the writing.

Enter blogging.

No, it’s not the same (I have a wildly vivid imagination, but I’m not delusional) as publishing a hardcover, New York Times Bestseller. But, still there’s something to it – the writing, the publishing, the readers…similar elements, no? It works for me – as you know – I simply love it here in the blogosphere.

Enter e-Books.

Turns out there’s a way to meld the writing and the blogging and the publishing (and still not have to wait around for Random House!). It’s called the e-Book. Yes, we all know this – but not many of us actually do it. Do you know why? Because it seems daunting – and we don’t know how.

I’m not ashamed to say that I like to have my hand held every now and again. It’s delightful to have someone wiser, stronger and more able than you showing you the way. And, I learned a while ago that asking for help is a brilliant way to…um, err, well, you know…GET HELP when you need it.

Now my current e-Book is fairly casual. For one reason, and one reason only – I didn’t know Aaron when I wrote, published or pushed it. I’ve just become privy to his new eBook: How to Build an e-Book – The Complete Guide (affiliate link). From the writing to the design and formatting to the publication, launch, marketing, affiliate tools (which Chris Brogan sang mightily about today) – you name it – he’s got it covered.

His book represents a tremendous effort (and he is a tremendous writer and person) – and I just couldn’t sit idly by and not shout WOOHOO AARON! from the rooftops, nor deny any of you from knowing about this incredible resource.

So GO! Buy his e-Book…and then turn your blog or your essays or your poems or your whatever it is that you write into a BOOK.

And sell it.

And be proud.

p.s. Maybe we should set up a webinar/storytime. You can lay down on your desks, and I can read you In Fairy Land. It really is Pulitzer material. It begins like this:

It was Friday in the Summer of 3056. A little girl named Jill was waiting for her friend Ann. Her pretty gold curls shown in the sun…

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Often enough, I think people are out to get me – I think it’s a little-sister-of-two-big-brothers complex -  so I gave him a pointed look and asked him what the hell was so funny.

Of course, he wasn’t looking, or laughing, at me – he was looking at the sanctuary candle with a picture of the last Pope (as in not the current, German one) on it. You see, Bethany had ordered this drink called Holy Water and the ingredients are: Green tea vodka, St. Germaine and lemon juice – with a sanctuary candle on the side. The candle might have a picture of the baby Jesus or the Virgin Mary or, in this case, the Pope. (And the drink is delicious to the max.)

“Oooohhh,” I said. And tried not to look like an asshole.

And then he asked me why I was so grumpy. And I told him that he didn’t know me well enough to call me grumpy. And I said, ‘What if I’m not grumpy? What if this is just my natural state? Wouldn’t you feel like a jerk?”

He said he didn’t think it was my natural state, so he wasn’t worried – and then told me he was grumpy, too. Something about some cowboy at work who goes off and runs wild, gets himself into impossible situations and then needs my new ‘friend’ to help him out – even while he’s on vacation.

“What do you do?” I asked.

“I work for AT&T,” he said.

I refrained from saying something nasty, and instead implored, “And what do you do for AT&T?”

And he just gave me this ‘lips sealed’ kind of look.

“What?” I said. And his girlfriend piped up, “He could tell you, but then he’d have to kill you.” Which he didn’t appreciate at all.

And then my earlier refraining was lost. “What? Do you chase after people who leave AT&T for Verizon because of all the dropped calls and break their kneecaps or something?”

He was totally not amused and made several off-color remarks about how I have a big red mappy network thing hanging over my head. “Listen,” he said. “Call someone and say, ‘I’m going to k**l the Pr****ent’ and watch what happens. But don’t really do that, okay? It’s not pretty.” (See, he made me wicked paranoid, I can’t even bring myself to say those words in this post – which is not part of the AT&T network.)

“Are you serious?”

“Totally.”

“AT&T listens to phone conversations?”

“…and texts and emails. And it’s not just AT&T, don’t kid yourself. We have it all, everything you’ve sent or typed into your phone.”

I guess I knew this on some level – Patriot Act and all that – but I’ve been busy blocking it out. “I suppose this should make me feel safer.”

“As long as you’re not stupid,” he said. And then he bought us a round of drinks – I’m guessing because he felt guilty for all the eavesdropping…and the dropped calls.

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Here’s a snippet of the babes that made the cut:

5. Eve There’s a bumper sticker that I believe was written for Eve, it says: Well-behaved women seldom make history. Once upon a time, Eve had a choice, she could follow the rules or not. She chose to be a daredevil, truth be told. That serpent helped her get the hell out of dodge and pave her own way – a way filled with the good and the bad. Because, as all women know, being good is just plain boring (most of us like bad boys and if Adam was going to play the goody two shoes, by God, Eve was going to corrupt him). Follow Eve by being curious, by following your cravings and your passions, and – of course – by misbehaving. There are many books that talk about Eve, (sadly she didn’t leave us a personal account of what really went down) but you might want to start with the Old Testament (and make sure to read in between the lines).

7. Katharine Hepburn wore pants and wore them so well. She was the picture of poise, but she was fiercely strong. In a biz where smiling for the press and everyone else was box office gold, she was labeled box office poison for her unconventional, straight-shooting, anti-Hollywood attitude. She was outspoken, esoteric and had a sharp tongue. And none of this was softened by her refusal of make-up and pretty dresses. Still, she earned 12 Oscar nominations and four statues. On location filming African Queen, director John Huston spoke of how on their days off, he and Bogart would go hunting for lions and such, and how one day Hepburn asked to join them. “He described her as a “Diana of the Hunt” — utterly fearless — and able to shoot with the best of them.” Follow Katharine to go against all conventions and to be real – as in ‘not fake’ or hidden under pretenses or make-up (actual or metaphorical). Read Me: Stories of My Life

Read the full post…

Also…

Next Tuesday 4/6, I’ll be on Bonnie Marcus’ fantastic radio show, Head over Heels, talking about Blogging for Business. Do I talk like I write? Hmmm…this would be a good way to find out. Also, she’s going to take questions from folks via her Facebook page which could be highly entertaining except for the fact that I think the questions have to be about blogging…so it’ll just be highly informative.

And…

I’m heading off on a fabulous adventure for a few days. I’m not sure if I’ll be posting Friday or Monday – and I don’t want anyone to think I’m dead if I don’t. So consider yourself informed. Capiche? I will be in very, very, very good hands…(my own included, of course).

Image credit

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We love them so much that we’re willing to take the time to write an essay with no guarantee of reward. We love them so much that we’re willing to share personal stories and details out loud with this little community.

One of the coolest things was that I got many emails and Twitter messages from you all remarking on how amazing the stories were, how you were all enjoying reading them. I was too.

I love that you all got to read each other’s writing. I love that I got to read your writing!

But, a winner had to be picked (which doesn’t make the rest of you losers). The judges have spoken – I had to stay out of it completely because I started to cry every time I thought about saying no to one of you.

Here’s the winning entry from Katy M:

I feel there were so many people who contributed to my development as a person and a writer, but I’ll choose Miss Pierce as being the most influential. Miss Pierce taught my seventh and eighth grade honors english classes.

The very first day of my seventh grade year I was petrified. I was in a brand new school and I was twelve. New people, new classes, new teachers and a new pre-teen obsession with self made me feel like I was under a microscope and I was afraid to do anything to set me apart from others. All I wanted was to fit in.

Thankfully, Miss Pierce was not going to let that happen. The moment I walked into her classroom I felt like I was at home. The chairs and desks were set up in a big oval. Poems, prose aned pictures of authors hung on the wall. At one end of the oval sat Miss Pierce, all dressed in black, at her desk covered in books. The first words Miss Pierce spoke after the bell rang have stayed with me all of these years. She said, “I only have one rule in my room. You must be yourself. I will not tolerate less from any of you.”

Suddenly, my tense mouth cracked into a smile. I felt the weight of the eyes of my peers lift from my body as my backpack fell to the floor. I felt safe and calm and I didn’t ever want to leave her class.

Over the two years I was fortunate enough to have her as a teacher, Miss Pierce taught me to write from that inner place I was afraid to acknowlede even existed previously. Some of the best moments in my childhood were reading books from her reading list. She introduced me to Faulkner, elliot and Thoreau. I learned how to construct a sentence and how to dissect a plot. Above all of this, Miss Pierce taught me the most important thing about character development was developing my character.

I will be forever grateful to Miss Pierce for opening me up to literature, writing and to myself. Thank you for allowing me to remember her tonight.

Congrats Katy!!! I hope this nook somehow gets you some nookie. And thank you to EVERYONE. You all make me really, really happy.

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But seriously, you know I’m not a big product pusher on this site – but this one, I couldn’t resist because:

1. It’s a NOOK, for Pete’s sake, and therefore, worthy of a giveaway.
2. I get one too.
3. I love you people and I’m happy to get you free stuff.
4. It’s a great opportunity for me to make you do what I say (via my giveaway/contest rules)…and I simply love bossing people around.

If you don’t know, the nook is Barnes & Noble’s eBook reader. It’s pretty awesome:

• It’s not backlit, so it’s easy on the eyes
• Obviously, you can download books instantly (and I’ve been known not to order a book online purely because it was going to take 3 days to get to me – and for some reason I’d rather not have it at all than wait 3 days, I know, I know)
• It’s wifi-connected so you have access to newspapers and magazines (which could give me a reason to read them again!)
• You can share books with friends (and I love sharing books – and clothes)
• And, the coolest part, I think, is that you can make notes for yourself on whatever you’re reading (I’m guessing that I like this function so much because I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut, and the nook isn’t asking me to) right on the digital page…
• More coolness, features and functionality can be found here (including a comparison to the Kindle)

So here’s the deal:

I recently found my very favorite English teacher, Dr. Puhr, on Facebook. I’d been looking for awhile. She’s absolutely one of the reasons I’m here. She taught A.P. American Lit my junior year in high school…and we read the best books ever: The Color Purple, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Catch 22, Catcher in the Rye, Song of Solomon, Emerson & Thoreau…. And she did cool things, like having us listen to Billy Joel’s haunting Goodnigh Saigon when we were talking about Vietnam and the 60′s and reading Waiting for Godot.

I was already hooked on reading (via my grandparents huge library of fat books like The Thornbirds that I started reading when I was 9ish), analyzing the hell out of it…and, of course, writing. But Dr. Puhr came right at the moment that I started to really think about things – about life and how expansive it really was. It was during those prime teenager angst years, you know? And she fed my hunger for knowing. She encouraged my thinking, my learning, my writing. She opened my eyes.

She encouraged me to be me. And that has had an invaluable impact on my writing and my life.

So, do you want this NOOK or what? Tell me your story in the comments below: who influenced your writing, your obsession with words and/or your love of reading?

I’ve chosen three judges to pick the best story…which was hard, because everyone wants a Nook – but I did it anyway. So there. Because picking my favorite story would be like picking my favorite kid and you just aren’t supposed to do that – I love you all equally. (These judges aren’t even web savvy, so it’s not worth me telling you who they are or giving you their urls because they don’t have any…also, I promised to protect them from the masses). I’ll announce the winner on Friday (March 19th – the same day The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo opens. Go. See. It.)

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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

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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!)

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