I ordered my first Mac laptop this week. It took a lot of deliberation; I had held off for years because I suspect that once I go Mac, I won’t go back. But in the past year, I’ve completed more freelance projects than ever, and I expect it’ll be a boon in my full-time and side work to have access to the industry standard for writing and design.
Buying a Mac, as many of you know, is quite a commitment. They’re generally more expensive than PCs, so deciding to take the Apple plunge is a big deal. But then you’ve got to decide which model MacBook you want. The Air is light and sleek, but not quite as powerful as the Pro. The Pro is a beast with a fancy screen, but not quite as portable as the Air.
But these days, neither of the newest models come equipped with a CD drive!
And this is how I’ve come to learn that I’m a weirdo because I still use CDs. Don’t be mistaken, I’m also a big fan of the cloud; my Google Drive is perpetually teetering at 90 percent full, and I have to clean out my Dropbox frequently. I also backup files to a 1 Terabyte external hard drive. I’m drinking the Kool-Aid, in other words.
I also buy CDs. I receive them from record labels (still, although not as frequently as I once did), and I keep a bin of them in my bedroom closet. Although technology is generally pretty good to me (WordPress hasn’t failed me yet!), I’m not comfortable relying on it for my entire music collection.
So after much debate and a number of people telling me I should let go of the notion of a built-in CD drive, I made up my mind. The older MacBook Pro isn’t only cheaper, it’s also exactly the machine I want.
Because after all, I’ll need a way to load these guys onto my fancy digital devices.
My most recently acquired albums, including Nickel Creek’s “A Dotted Line” (getting the advance review download wasn’t enough! Gotta support one of my favorite bands), The Rolling Stones’ “Sticky Fingers, Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers’ “Rare Bird Alert” (featuring the Dixie Chicks AND Paul McCartney!) and Ruben Studdard’s “Unconditional Love.”
I’m not being the best friend right now–and that’s hard for me. I love being able to swing by a friend’s house when she calls and says dinner’s on, or enjoy a mid-week girls’ night with another while her husband is out of town. But right now, I’ve got to hunker down and write.
My manuscript is due on April 7. It’s hard to believe! And there’s still plenty of work to do (isn’t how these things always go?). But I’m excited to be racing toward the finish. I’ve left the “I can’t do this!” phase, am growing increasingly comfortable in the “I can probably do this” phase, hope to soon move into “I can do this!” and can’t wait to get to “I’ve done it!”
In the meantime, I’m still allowing myself a few minutes here and there to write personal projects–including my semi-regular blog posts for Church Street Coffee and Books, where I’m documenting my journey as a first-time author.
The countdown is on: My manuscript is due to my editor three weeks from yesterday.
Although it’s been 11 months since he verbally accepted my proposal and nearly nine months since I received the signed contract, these final days are proving the most intense part of the book-writing process. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised; writers, like people in a number of other fields, are renowned for their procrastination tactics. Just earlier today, a former newspaper columnist told me she enjoyed having written, past tense.
Two years ago, Annie Damsky and I sat at a table in Magic Muffins talking about yoga. I was interviewing Annie about opening Birmingham’s only yoga studio to offer classes for the whole family, Villager Yoga. As we talked, I told her that I was trying to develop my own “yoga addiction.” I had been practicing on my own at home for about six weeks, and was beginning to regularly attend classes at The Yoga Circle.
One year ago, Melissa Scott and I were in Chattanooga for the weekend when she mentioned an interest in leading a teacher training. “I’ll be the first to sign up,” I said. I had already contemplated teacher training as a way to deepen my understanding, whether I were to eventually teach or not.
Tonight, teacher training begins.
I cannot adequately express how excited I am. As promised, I was (I think) the first student to register for training. Melissa has been an incredible teacher and friend for the past two years, and I am thrilled to learn from her and support her.
But perhaps more importantly, I’m excited to allow myself this experience. My to-do list is especially full right now, with a number of projects both at and outside of work. I feel as though I could work all weekend and not accomplish all I’d like. These are the moments when I especially need to slow down, take a deep breath and put the world back into perspective.
I’ll spend the rest of the weekend aiming to do just that, and will return to my mat for these intensive sessions eight more times between now and November. I can’t wait to see where this path leads.
Mendelssohn violin concerto, Alabama Symphony Orchestra, Alys Stephens Center, Jan. 31, 2014
Justin Brown Conducts Wagner, Alabama Symphony Orchestra, Alys Stephens Center, Feb. 21, 2014
Nickel Creek with The Secret Sisters, Alabama Theatre, April 16, 2014
Arcade Fire, Bridgestone Arena, Nashville, May 1, 2014
Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto: Fung’s “Fanfare for McElroy,” Debussy’s Three Etudes” Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major and Prokofiev’s Symphony No. 5, Alabama Symphony Orchestra, Alys Stephens Center, May 31, 2014
Slow down and take a minute to see the world around you.
That’s what I’ve been trying to do recently as I attempt to improve my photography skills. I review beautiful images all the time in my work as a magazine editor, but my own photos tend to be snapshots taken for the sake of sharing information. I’ll grab a photo of my cats lying side by side so I can show my sister how much the younger one has grown, or I’ll capture a favorite book passage for later reference. But I rarely take the time to frame a picture, find the best light and ensure I’m giving the subject my best shot.
Several recent conversations resulted in my giving photography more of attention. After admiring some of her work, I asked my friend Rachel to meet me for a photo session in which she would offer me advice.
Thanks in part to the temperature, we spent more time gabbing over cupcakes and chai than we did shooting in the park. But the shots we grabbed and those on-site conversations were instructive. I walked away realizing that I can take a decent picture by simply taking my time (I never thought I’d capture such great reflections of downtown in the park’s lake!), and a little careful editing can make a picture pop.
I’ve got plenty to learn, but I’ve already asked Rachel to promise a future get together. And in the meantime, I’ve got ample opportunity to capture my two favorite (feline) subjects in their best light.
McCartney
Harrison
Railroad Park
Railroad Park
Railroad Park
Railroad Park
Railroad Park
Railroad Park
Today’s subject line comes from Cyndi Lauper’s “True Colors.” I’m sorry for getting that stuck in your head.
I read a wide variety of genres, but there’s at least one thing you can count on: If someone writes a memoir that touches on a life experience that intrigues me, I’ll read it. So when I heard about Amy Webb’s “Data, A Love Story,” I quickly requested it from my local library.
I’ll confess, I’ve read way too many dating books. When I was in college, “I Kissed Dating Goodbye,” “I Gave Dating a Chance,” “Lady in Waiting,” “When God Writes Your Love Story” and other such titles were the topic of the day. I read them all (and then some!), and I was left confused by their advice. Perhaps as an indirect result, I didn’t date much in college, even though those were prime years for meeting and getting to know lots of different people.
Other books I’ve read out of curiosity; often, if a book hits the zeitgeist, I’ll pick it up so I know what everyone is talking about. (No, I haven’t read “Twilight” or “50 Shades of Grey.”) So 2005 found me breezing through “He’s Just Not That Into You” and frequenting the often-pink-adorned 306 aisle in the library. That year also introduced Dr. Henry Cloud’s “How to Get a Date Worth Keeping,” and as I read it, I realized I needed to take some drastic steps to shake up my dating patterns (or lack thereof!).
So I signed up for match.com.
I used online dating sites on and off from 2005 to 2012, when I met my boyfriend on match.com. I never really thought I’d meet someone special on the Internet, even though “You’ve Got Mail” left me half-expecting an email from Mr. Right to show up at any minute.
I wrote an essay about the experience for Birmingham magazine, which ran in the February issue. I also finished reading “Data, A Love Story” this week, and as I closed the book, I fought the urge to get out of bed to email the author. I don’t think there’s a one-size-fits-all formula for finding a relationship, but online dating was good to me (and to Webb, also–from the early pages of her book, readers know she ultimately found her husband online. Her specific journey to that point is compelling, if at times intense. And heck, I can relate to being intense! She’s just math-focused, and I’m more of a liberal arts gal.).
Like Webb, I got to share my particular success story with readers. It’s probably the most personal piece I’ve ever seen in print, but the response I’ve received so far has been great. If you’re contemplating online dating or merely curious about it, I hope you find this useful.
As for me, I’ll spend Valentine’s Day counting my blessings with the man who I met through Internet.
I told a friend last week that I met my boyfriend on match.com, and her reaction caught me by surprise: “It seems like that’s how everyone meets these days.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have been taken off guard; my boyfriend and I are one of three couples in our social circle who met through that online dating site. Murray and Shayne met in 2011, became engaged 10 months later and were married in May 2013. (You can read their story in the winter/spring issue of Birmingham Weddings and Celebrations.) Holly and Brad met in 2012, rented a house together in 2013 and became engaged six months later. And Put and I have been going strong since our first date on Sept. 3, 2012. –Read more “I Gave Match.com a Chance” at bhammag.com.
Today’s subject line comes from “Gimme Gimme,” one of my favorite songs from the musical “Thoroughly Modern Millie.”
That was my inclination as I woke up yesterday, surrounded by cats and tucked in under my toasty electric blanket. I had a sales meeting to attend (but couldn’t I call in?). I had an intern to orient. I had a committee to join. I had a class to teach.
If you’ve watched the news in the past 36 hours, it won’t surprise you that only one of those things happened. After the 9 a.m. sales meeting, I emailed my fellow instructors in Tuscaloosa, seeking a sub in case the roads were dangerous. I didn’t expect them to be, but 60 miles is a long way to drive when there’s a possibility of icy conditions. Within half an hour, the university canceled classes and I began to wonder if I should drive home while it was still safe.
Or while I thought it was still safe. My story isn’t exceptional; like many others, I left my office around 11 a.m., expecting a slow but manageable drive home. My usual route is 4.5 miles and takes about 15 minutes to traverse. Yesterday I made it halfway in an hour, got caught on a patch of ice, was pushed off by two gentlemen and a block later discovered that my regular street home was closed. I turned around and pursued the flattest route I could think of; it was longer, but I suspected I would be less likely to get stuck again.
I didn’t need another push, but I slid several times during the remaining three hours of my drive. It was an immersive learning experience for this Florida-raised girl, but I quickly realized that proceeding slowly, avoiding braking on inclines and reversing and readjusting when stuck would help me make it home. After four hours in the car, I hooted and hollered as I pulled into my driveway.
Many others weren’t so fortunate: My roommate hunkered down at the home of a friend’s aunt, and my boyfriend slept in his office. One of my coworkers will spend a second night in our photo studio. But everyone I know is safe and warm, and for that I’m grateful.
Please note: My car was not in motion during ANY of these pictures. That would be incredibly foolish and dangerous. However, there was plenty of time to take pictures during my four-hour drive home.
Regardless of the field in which you work, you’ve probably identified a role model or two. It may be your boss (lucky you!), a beloved professor, a family friend or a star in the field.
One of mine is Anna Quindlen. Her nonfiction work for the New York Times and Newsweek and the resulting collection of columns paint a portrait of a smart, informed woman who uses her pen to engage the world around her. Quindlen is award winning—she received a Pulitzer in 1992 for her Times column “Public and Private”—but she’s not exclusively a “career woman.” She’s also a mom and a wife whose family seem to be at the heart of her world, judging by the way she writes about them in her columns and book dedications. (As I recently finished “Rise and Shine”—one of the few Anna Quindlen books I hadn’t read—I marveled at the dedication to her daughter Maria. “Fearless, powerful, utterly amazing. I want to be you when I grow up.”)
I’m a fairly young woman and a journalist, but I also love essays (“How Reading Changed My Life” was my introduction to Quindlen’s work) and fiction. I’m fortunately surrounded by people whose paths show me that there’s no one-size-fits-all answer for life as a woman, whether you stay at home with children or work an office job—or something in between. And I’m also lucky to have the careers of such women as Quindlen and Nora Ephron for inspiration.
So when I persuaded my editor at BookPage to let me send a few questions Quindlen’s way on the occasion of her latest novel’s publication, one of the first things I asked was about her own female role models. You can read how she answered–as well as the rest of our discussion–at BookPage.com, and you can read my review of “Still Life with Bread Crumbs” in the February issue of BookPage. (The book was published today, and it’s my favorite Quindlen novel yet.)
My submission for a photo contest at SPJ’s JournCamp. The assignment was to take a mobile photo inspired by the word “work.”
One of my biggest goals as a teacher is to prepare my students for jobs. Without fail, every semester someone asks whether he or she should join the professional organization affiliated with their future career. And every time, I’ve said yes. There’s great benefit in these organizations, whether it’s beefing up your resume (one of the top priorities of college students!), networking opportunities or educational elements.
Last semester, I finally heard the hypocrisy in my answer. Although I repeatedly urged my class to join the Public Relations Student Society of America, as most of them were interested in PR careers, I had yet to join the Society of Professional Journalists.
Oops.
When I was in grad school, I used the same excuse my students employ now: I’m broke. I can’t afford it. That probably wasn’t true a decade ago (student membership is only $37.50!), and it certainly isn’t true now. So I spent time looking through the benefits listed on spj.org, emailed with Alabama Pro chapter folks and finally plunked down my $75 for a professional membership in October.
And it’s already paid off. The weekly emails are genuinely informative. I haven’t yet received any assignments based on the organization’s freelance directory, but I quickly submitted my information. I dogeared page after page of my first issue of the quarterly magazine, Quill.
Then I received an email announcing SPJ JournCamp in Nashville. The one-day workshop ran from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., included two meals and three sessions–and was only $35 for members. I deliberated for about half an hour before I realized I was being silly. I needed to go to this.
So Friday morning, I drove to Nashville. I’ve recently realized the value of bumping brains with other writers without having an agenda in place–a lesson I spoke of during a creative-writing class at Mountain Brook Junior High School that very morning. And so I was nearly as eager to spend time with my friend Trisha, managing editor of BookPage, and Nashville Lifestyle’s managing editor Erin Byers Murray as I was to attend the conference itself. That evening, I texted my boyfriend to tell him I was having a very, very good day and had lots to tell him. I went to be energized by conversations with writers and editors whose passions overlap with mine.
That adrenaline level spiked during Lane DeGregory’s two-hour narrative storytelling session on Saturday morning. Within minutes of the session’s start, I wrote “I love her” on a notepad and slid it to my friend Marty. Unlike some of the other folks in the room, I wasn’t previously familiar with Lane’s work. She won the 2009 Pulitzer Prize for feature writing, and her work is apparently now taught in journalism classes. (In my defense, I graduated well before she won!) But I was quickly bowled over by her insight. Lane’s talk was both affirming and inspiring; it was filled with “me too” moments, as well as practical advice for building my storytelling skills. I was nearly brought to tears as she told stories that reinforced the tips she offered.
Afterward, I joined a line of conference attendees waiting to speak to Lane. When I reached the front, I said, “At the risk of being too human, can I give you a hug?” She pulled me in for a bear hug and said, “There’s no such thing as being too human.” (During the session, Lane said she will tell sources anything about herself except her opinion. That was a light bulb moment for me; I’ve always believed I’m a human before I’m a journalist, and therefore I shouldn’t check my personality or conversational ability at the door. But I’ve struggled with where to draw the line between being myself and doing my job.)
So why did I join SPJ? To practice what I preach. I always tell students to ask people they admire for advice or insight into their careers, and one session of a one-day workshop reminded me how encouraging the results can be.
I once thought I hated the Auburn University Tigers more than any other team in college football. I’ve been a fan of the University of Alabama Crimson Tide for longer than I can remember; in Alabama, where I come from, football loyalties are a matter of inheritance, not choice. The state doesn’t have professional sports teams, which means our college athletes are our pros. As a result, the annual meeting between the Tide and Tigers is one of the most intense rivalries in sports.
But I spent most of my youth in Florida, where the Florida-Florida State and Florida State-Miami rivalries run deep but college sports also compete with the NFL, MLB, NBA and surely other leagues I’m unaware of for viewership. Kids at my elementary, middle and high schools made fun of me for being an Alabama fan–and perhaps because the school was only an hour away and therefore we lived in a Gator town, the cries of University of Florida fans ring loudest in my mind.
So when I moved back to Alabama in 2003, I was surprised to quickly realize that I didn’t hate Auburn so much after all. (In fact, I often joke that, as a Florida State grad, I would have been more likely to pledge my allegiance to Auburn if I hadn’t already been “raised right.” FSU and Auburn have far more in common than FSU and Alabama, but I love my two alma maters anyway.) The truth is, I want Auburn to win every game except the Iron Bowl. I like Auburn. They’re family. But even though I have a handful of friends who are Gators, I never grow tired of Florida losing.
My dad, on the other hand, grew up with playground arguments about Alabama and Auburn. If you tell him you’re an Alabama fan cheering for Auburn, you’re going to get an earful. Likewise, my friend Melody is an Auburn grad who grew up in Tallahassee. She can’t stand my beloved Seminoles.
So tonight, my dad will cheer for Florida State not only because two of his daughters went there, but because he still bristles at Auburn’s success. Melody will cheer for Auburn because it’s her alma mater, but also because she wants to show all of her hometown Seminoles who’s best.
And although I’ll be pulling for Florida State with all I’ve got, I must admit that a fifth-consecutive BCS championship for the state of Alabama wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen this season. It turns out that my loyalty isn’t just nature, but also nurture. I want my team to win not only for the joy of victory itself, but also to tie (and hopefully soon exceed) Florida’s number of championships. Scalp ’em.
Today’s title comes from the Beach Boys song by the same name. Also, here’s a fun blog post by an Alabama fan who won’t be cheering for Auburn in the title game. As some are saying, Nole tide Nole.
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