Magic bullets are still bullets

My good Twitter friend, Joe Cascio tweeted me a link the other day – asking me if I’d heard of OmmWriter or if I was using it. I’m not going to lie to you, but I had an instantly bitchy reaction before I even opened up the site.

This program promises a zen writing experience. With pretty backgrounds and cool fonts (all of which I can get from Pages which I use for word processing on my Mac). They say: “Ommwriter is a humble attempt to recapture what technology has snatched away from us today: our capacity to concentrate.”

Interesting. Does this site miraculously turn off my email, Twitter, Facebook, phone, family and clients? ‘Cause if it doesn’t, then I don’t get it.

Many of you know that I’m in love with Wordpress. After years of searching through typewriters, journals, Word docs and more, it was the day that I logged into this blog that my writing finally happened the way I’d always dreamed it would.

BUT and this is a HUGE but - none of this, and I mean none of this, means a thing if my mind and heart and creative juices are not aligned. All the fancy tools and tricks in the world can only take you so far. There is something indescribable (we – writers – have been trying to define it for years) that has to be turned on in order for the writing to work.

And there’s something that has to be turned OFF – the mind chatter, the self-doubt, the shoulds, coulds and woulds, the what ifs, the desire to eat or clean the toilet or make a phone call – or however you’re choosing to self-sabotage or procrastinate.

Once upon 10 years ago, I thought that if I got a laptop, I would be Carrie Bradshaw. Cut to today. I’m still not her – and know that I’m better off being myself. And it was the getting to know myself and practicing writing and making mistakes and getting things right and trying and failing and continuing to sit down here at my computer – that’s what gets my writing done everyday.

Can OmmWriter turn off the switches I need turned off and turn on the ones I need turned on? Nope. No software or equipment can do that. We’re the only ones that can do that.

I’m not trying to take OmmWriter down (apparently some people just love it), but I can’t just sit quietly while I watch writers get excited about finding the magic bullet. A bullet’s a bullet – they explode and destroy (good things and bad things, granted) – but they’re made to kill. Call me a cynic, but I think I’m being a realist.

Just don’t say anything bad about Wordpress – it’s my unwashed uniform, my lucky bat, the 5 bowls of Wheaties I always eat on game day…and I’m keen not to break this writing streak.

Image credit: RazZziel

Wide open

Warning: this post is kinda gross.

My birth experience was horrid: preeclampsia, 2 lb. baby, NICU (neonatal  intensive care unit). All bad. I also had an emergency c-section. Let me tell you, it is a crazy thing to be awake while you are cut open. Then, it is a terrifying thing to move about the world with your abdomen cut open.

Yes, there were stitches binding me together. But I wouldn’t move without pressing a folded towel tightly against the incision. Granted, I was in a trauma state from the whole experience, but my fear that all-of-my-everything would spill out of me was as real as the hormone induced tears that I couldn’t make stop.

Then, yesterday, I was having a conversation about the fact that you can feel 180 degrees different about the same ‘thing’ depending on the circumstance.

Because when I write – and when I’m on – I feel like my head, my heart and guts are sliced wide open. But it’s glorious. I pray the cut will deepen. I would do anything to keep it open. To plant stakes in the sides and let it all flow without constraint.

Somethings you’re desperate to keep inside. Others you urgently need to release.

Image credit: Martin Clifton

What’s security anyway?

I got a phone call yesterday afternoon. Well, first I got a message via LinkedIn requesting the call, then I got the call.

It was from a recruiter. Offering a very (very) high paid job at a company in Boston. For those of you who read this blog regularly and saw yesterday’s post, you can join me in a good laugh here: the position was to create and manage the social media department – wait for it – for a PR firm.

I know. As an old friend used to say, you just can’t make this stuff up.

It turned out that the job wasn’t right for me, the company’s looking for someone with strong social media experience and hands-on programming experience (HTML, Javascript, AJAX, XML, etc.) Which would be like asking me if I could write and do chemistry…which I couldn’t, can’t and, quite frankly, won’t. (If this is YOU, let me know and I’ll guide you right to this recruiter!!! And don’t let the Boston thing scare you, they’re even willing to pay for relo.)

Even though that particular job wasn’t for me, we got to talking – and said recruiter was very excited about what it is that I do, how I do it and why I do it. To be honest, I was excited about my answers too. And this confirmed that it would be sorta hard to woo me away from my present situation – owning my own company, being my own boss, freelancing and the randomness that comes with it.

Let’s be honest.

An actual job has some things going for it: a steady paycheck, health insurance, VACATION TIME, SICK TIME               sorry – I’m back, I think I just fainted for a minute there.

But, and it’s a big BUT – how secure would this job really be? As it stands, my success is entirely dependent on me. It’s a lot of pressure, but at least it’s mine. I do well when I work hard, seize opportunity, smear my gumption all over people…and things like that. I do poorly when I don’t do those things. And I have no one to blame but myself. Really. Even if I get screwed over or let down by a client, it’s up to me whether I cry about it and sling responsibility (and we all deserve at least 5 minutes of this) or whether I just get up and go find another one, a better one. Companies fold all the time or it’s just not a good fit or…there are so many things that could make this opportunity crumble.*

So, what I told her was, “Of course, I’ll send my resume, but:

• I’d be more interest in working as a contractor,
• Or as a consultant,
• Or on a special project for a few weeks to several months,
• And I’d need to telecommute,
• But I’d be happy to travel in on a regular basis.”

I’m not closing any doors. If a job-job came along that was just perfect (and had a sizable signing bonus), I would heavily consider it. As always, there is no definitive path…but there’s a helluva lot of excitement and possibility.

What about you? If you had your choice, would you go it alone or pull your chair up to a cubicle?

*I’m really not a pessimist. The other night, a loud truck with flashing lights woke me up in the middle of the night – my first and only thought was, why are they cleaning the streets at this hour? When, in fact and of course, it was a snowplow and we were in the middle of a snowstorm on March 1st. I think this is a sign of my deeply embedded optimism. (Which is why, for now, I’m putting my chips on Writing Roads.)

Image credit: Lokner

Reason 1020 to Hire a Copywriter or the Power of the Myth

So, I’ve been working on a copywriting project for a client whose business is travel. My assignment revolves around Egypt – so I’ve been bandage deep in mummies and pharaohs and tombs and Gods. And it’s all reminded me of something that I find fascinating: mythology.

For instance, there’s the myth of Isis. You see, the Ancient Egyptians believed that when the Nile flooded every year, it was just from the annual crying episode of Isis – the Goddess of Motherhood, Magic and Fertility (and by the way, whoever tied those three things together for her was frickin’ brilliant, right?) – as she mourned her husband Osiris.

As crops and lives were destroyed, the Egyptians were ‘apparently’ able to handle the devastation with a smack to the forehead, “Oh!” They would exclaim. “It’s just Isis again…and no one messes with a heartbroken woman.” Or so some might simplify and suppose.

It doesn’t have to be Egypt, every culture has these myths and they serve one main purpose (besides entertainment and education): myths provide a logical explanation for something that is illogical, out of our control or just terribly hard to understand or deal with. For instance, why the Nile floods every year causing destruction and death or why mosquitoes buzz in people’s ears or why the sun appears every morning and the moon rises every night. Ultimately, myths provide comfort.

Rolling the dice…so to speak

Imagine a product – not an extraordinary thing, but one that a lot of people are making – like a slot machine. Realize that people (maybe not all of them, but a lot of them) are confused by this machine just like they’re confused about the cycle of the ocean tides. They accept it, but they’re still thinking why? why do I need this? how does it work? why would I want to play? and possibly, will it help my crops grow? (Um, yes, if you win and the slot machine spits money out at you). Their reaction to all of this ‘not knowing’ might be fear, it might be trepidation, it might be avoidance.

But, you run a casino, so you don’t want them to respond with fear, trepidation or avoidance. You want them to enjoy and seek out the slot machine. Which is where the copywriter comes in. Copywriters are the creator of your slot machine myth. We write the story that makes all of those consumer people relax and say, “Oh! Now I get it! The slot machine has a logical purpose – there’s nothing to fear! In fact, what I just read made me feel so good and calm and in tune with the slot machine, I want to go play with one.”

We explain, we provide answers, we bridge, we soothe. Our myth is your story and the place of connection from consumer to product, client to service…and sometimes even ancient Egyptian to the Gods…

Image credit: Valerie

Reason 930 to Hire a Copywriter or Most People are Bad Liars

Jack, my 3 year-old son, has two moms, he calls us Ma J (that would be me) and Mama. And he has learned to lie recently. Though, sadly, he has only has one lie in his repertoire, he just varies it from situation to situation.

When ‘Mama’ isn’t around, he whines pathetically at me:

“Mama said I could have ice cream! Mama said I could!”

“Mama said I didn’t have to go to bed! Mama said I didn’t!”

“Mama said I get to sleep with my Lego guy. Mama said I get to!”

Let’s be clear, he doesn’t lie well. I mean, I hesitated the first time – but it’s been straight down hill from there, for him. He’s lacking in creativity, yes? Clearly, he needs to expand his game.

Why do people lie?

It’s upsetting that he’s learned to lie, of course, and it’s made me think about lying in general and why people lie. I think it’s about fear. And need. And control. And survival. In his case, he lies to get what he thinks he desperately needs for his survival – like ice cream or his favorite Lego guy. Basically, people lie because they don’t have confidence that their truth is going to get the job done.

So, why is lying Reason 930 to hire a copywriter? Surely, not because I want people to lie! But, because I want them to do the exact opposite. We all have these deep needs and fears and the desire for control and survival – and so, sometimes, you watch companies lie (badly) to try to convince people to use their product or hire them – because of their terror that no one will – which will mean that they’ll go out of business, lose all of their money and die. They’re afraid their truth is not enough.

As a copywriter, I don’t think you need to lie in order to run a successful business. In fact, I think people, potential customers, can smell your desperation and your disingenuousness. And what many people don’t realize is that they don’t have to lie. They have a great story, they have a great platform – something that makes them worth buying, something that makes them stand out from the crowd. But, they can’t see it and don’t know how to say it.

Copywriters do.

We know how to ask the right questions, listen to what you have to say and then pull out the gems and build the story. It’s what we do. We see your truth, write it and make it sound fetching, irresistible.

Gotcha

Because, you know, most liars get caught…and it’s just terrible.

It happened to Jack the other day. There he was, not wanting to get dressed for the day, on the verge of a break down, when he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his go-to trick: “Mama said I didn’t have to get dressed! Mama said I didn’t have to!” Only this time, whoops, he was talking to – yes, you guessed it – Mama.

The moral of this story: don’t lie to your customers. Be proud of who you are and what you do. If you can’t make it sound just right, hire a wordsmith to help you.

And, also: never, ever lie to your mother.

Image credit: Denis Giles

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

The Sense of Write

I have an uncanny sense of smell. Seriously, I’ve broken up with people over it. Not because they liked the smell of lavender while I insist on freesia and lilac, but because they didn’t smell right. If this writing things doesn’t work out, I might become a pheromone detective.

My nose is my directional. And this week, it stopped working. It’s a little bit completely amusing because I wrote a post about voluntarily shutting your nose on the 15th. I can only guess this is the Universe telling me, Not so fast, sweetheart, we still hold the ultimate control card in these parts.

Anyway, it stopped working because I have a cold. For me this is a once a year occurrence, the last time was late last February when I had a full-blown flu. This time, just a wicked head cold.

They say that when one sense stops working, the others kick into overdrive. But, I can’t smell, taste or hear from the cold and I haven’t been able to see since 1983. (I’m practically blind and my vision can’t be corrected to 20/20 even with my glasses or contacts.) So that leaves me with the 5th sense: feel. Except that the cold has usurped that as well. Because all I’ve felt like is crap.

First let me say that there’s something refreshing about not having any of the senses work. While I can’t taste my food, I also can’t smell anything bad. When I was running yesterday (yes, I still ran even though I was sick – I think sweating helps), I couldn’t smell any exhaust. There I was moving up the last hill on State Road thinking, Wow! These cars are all running so clean! It usually stinks out here! And then I remembered. And I can’t taste that nasty cold/sick taste you usually have in your mouth when you’re sick. And I can’t hear annoying people. All in all, not so bad.

But the best news is that I think I’ve developed my own sickth sense: the Sense of Write. My writing has been lip-smacking good. Everything else is hibernating, but my writing brain and my writing fingers are looking for the party. Which is great because I have a lot of work to do. And because it’s one of my favorite things to do. And because my boss refuses to give me any sick time. (So I’m leaving used Kleenex all over her desk.)

Image credit: hebedesign

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!)

Dang. Another Fork.

Remember in The Muppet Movie when Kermit and Fozzie are driving along and the map says there’s a fork in the road and they look up and there’s actually a huge fork sticking out of the ground? I frickin’ love that.

The frog and the bear were following directions, so they knew which way to go when they came upon this fork. But the rest of us aren’t always that lucky. Like me, today. I’m writing and everything’s going just fine and then I get to this place – it’s my fork in the writing road. And I have no map.

Suddenly, I have a choice. I’m writing about the importance of having community as a blogger – and I can focus on the virtues of the greater collective or I can highlight the benefits of having a few key people. There’s not room for both in my post, but the real issue for me is this: it’s hard to let go of either option. What if I pick the wrong one? How will I ever know what might have been? And, no, I do not have time to write it both ways and then pick. But, that’s a nice fantasy.

As I write this, I realize that the Zen take on this dilemma (Alisa – you’ve corrupted my conscience!) would be to embrace the fork not as a ’split’ or an ‘either or’, but as a bastion of opportunity and abundance! “Wow – look at that,” I would say. “I can choose option A and then write another post about option B. Lucky me!” But, I don’t want two posts. I want one. The right one.

My July birthday makes me a Cancer, ruled by water and the moon and my emotions and passion. Apparently this means that:

• I cling (you know, with my crab claws).
• I have needs that want to be filled deeply and immediately.
• I have an aversion to failure and opposition.
• (Oh, and I don’t like to be told what to do. This has absolutely nothing to do with this my point in this post. I just like knowing that this isn’t a character flaw, but an astrological fact that is beyond my control. Can someone call my all of my teachers, K – 12, and let them know? Thanks.)

Back to my point, something happens to me psychologically (or metaphysically? or astrologically?) when I have to make a choice between two ideas. I clutch them both tightly – and when I finally choose option A, I feel like I’ve failed option B. I don’t like the disparity that is inherent in making the choice.

So, quite often I find myself staring at my computer screen – contemplating the death of a thread in a post. Interestingly enough, the Muppets give me a nudge out of this pothole at the end of the movie with their final song. It goes a little something like this:

“Life’s like a movie, write your own ending, keep believing, keep pretending…”

I think Kermit just told me to fake it till I make it. And I think Kermit just told me that I literally can’t get it wrong. I just need to choose…and keep driving.

How do you handle forks?

Image credit: Dcosand

Surgically removed

On Tuesday, my baby girl, the fruit of my loins, is having surgery. I’ve been effectively not thinking about this for weeks. But now it’s right here, days away. It’s a supposedly easy, out-patient thing, but she has to go completely under – and, well, it’s surgery. And she’s so little.

She’s having surgery to have her adenoids removed because she can’t breathe and because we’ve tried everything else and because they’re causing her pain and discomfort and hearing loss and tooth decay and god knows what else.

So, I’m trying to find something good here in this situation – because to sit around and worry is, well, really stupid. And here’s what occurred to me. There are times when I have tried everything, when I’ve explored every option – but the pain and discomfort and god knows what else is still there.

How cool would it be if surgery were an option for me? There are some things I’d like to have surgically removed. Like my knack for procrastination and people that don’t use their turn signals and the scarcity of time and my intense need for Vanilla Coconut Bliss with carob powder smushed into it.

I’d love to have those things hacked off. Or sucked out. Like liposuction.

In one of my favorite movies, Someone Like You, Ashley Judd goes to the doctor and asks him to remove her amygdala  – the part of the brain that retains sense memory – because every time she smells laundry or vanilla it reminds her of her ex-boyfriend and she’s thrown into a tailspin of heartache. It’s a fantastic scene. Raise your hand if you can relate.

What about you? What would you have removed? You know, if you could do it painlessly, easily, with no recovery time required – oh, and, of course, if your health insurance would cover it.

Image credit: aesop