It Was a Good Run

Two weeks ago, I gave my notice at 451 Press. This morning, I published my final post at LongRelationships.com.

I view the handful of months writing for a blog network as a valuable learning experience. I appreciated the challenge of writing on a single topic with a deadline of 10am every morning. I enjoyed the camaraderie that came from the community of writers. I gained my first exposure to social networking sites and I was forced to view my writing from the perspective of what might draw readers. I feel better equipped to write on the fly, tie up a concise argument on a small scope, and use WordPress. I am absolutely grateful to everyone who stopped by the site, left comments, and e-mailed me articles to reference. As an exercise, writing for the network was a successful one for me.

However.

I didn’t enjoy writing on a topic about which I only have experiential expertise of a narrow set of circumstances. JG was my only really serious boyfriend and we’ve only been married for two years. Sure, my stories might have their own appeal, but did they give me inherent credibility? I shied away from posts of the “Ask RA” variety out of fear that a reader would pose a situation that might require serious intervention or therapy, neither of which I am able to diagnose nor provide. I felt uncomfortable wearing an unearned badge of knowledge because I wanted to be a reliable resource.

On top of that, I’m working to be a better writer, not a marketer. The double-duty position of both supplying content and getting the world to notice it was a detrimental combination for me. I’d write what I thought was useful or compelling with the grim knowledge that it would never float to the front pages of social networking sites. Then, I’d try to conjure articles that might draw votes on those sites, but I didn’t quite believe what I was writing. Ultimately, I felt like both my writing and my stats suffered, which was such a lose-lose situation. I know that some folks can write and market simultaneously, but I am an introvert in real life as well as online. Asking others to read what I’ve written is anxiety-producing and not because I don’t believe I’m a skilled writer. I want my words to speak for themselves; I don’t want to prop them up with a tag line.

At the end of the day, I felt like I lived with my fingers tapping on a keyboard. After a full day at work, the time spent writing, doing auxiliary research, voting, and responding to comments grew to be more than I wanted to handle. Some might turn down their noses at my inability to commit more time, but I am not a full-time writer who is able to sink deeply into a project. Trying to massage my ideas about relationships into a palatable format for the sake of votes was not the plan. Searching newspapers, columns, and blogs for anything relationship-centric that I could quickly summarize just to get to the point where I could close my laptop was not the plan. Going to bed hours after JG and saying good night to a slumbering body was not the plan.

All of this is not to say that I have hard feelings toward 451 Press. I’m actually really curious about how the network will progress over time. Simply put, writing for a network, even with ad revenue, was not the right fit for me. I’m proud of quite a few articles I wrote for the site, including my final one, so perhaps I’ll revisit them in the future. I’ll continue to plug away in these parts, but most importantly, on my own terms.

Capturing Kennett Square

As I’ve mentioned before, I love our little town of Kennett Square. Aside from the town’s fascination with fungi, the town’s charm oozes through quaint Victorian houses and the local restaurants full of people and food, and both very good. Ever since I got my bearings after we moved in at the end of October 2005, I’ve wanted to go around the one-street-wide downtown area to snap pictures of local color. But, as they usually do, the excuses crept up. It’s not sunny enough. I won’t find a parking spot. There are no charged batteries. And so it goes.

In a move that was very unlike me, I made plans this afternoon to have dinner with two co-workers. (I will appreciate a respectful pause to note my outrageous spontaneity. I mean, who plans a dinner out just two hours before it occurs?) My co-workers happened to be spending the afternoon at Longwood Gardens, a tourist attraction that is no less than ten minutes from where I live. When I jumped at the chance to recommend a restaurant, the three of us* planned to meet up for dinner at the Half Moon.

Suddenly, I found my chance to wander Kennett Square in gorgeous weather. I zoomed home, changed into jeans, grabbed my camera, and spent a blissful hour strolling around, snapping pictures, and greeting the friendly outdoor diners. I garnered my share of strange glances – I mean, I would have viewed a seeming tourist the same way – but simply being outdoors was so refreshing that I ignored the stares. I felt more energetic than I had during the entire workday.

After a tasty dinner, I made the short drive home in a strange state of fuzzy relaxation. The sun left behind a fiery pink sky in my rear-view mirror and a round, pockmarked moon rose before me in a deep blue sky. Those are two pictures I would’ve loved to have captured.

It was a good day.

I like that I can say that.

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* Unfortunately, JG was left out of the fun because tonight was the first meeting of his summer graduate course, which sadly convenes twice a week, from 6-10pm. Gah.

Recollection

As much as I enjoy it, having Monday off always throws me for a loop. I wake up, groggy as ever, with those Monday blues swinging through my brain, and then, the dawning realization that it is not Monday makes that grogginess seem, well, not as bad. It’s a slight improvement that I am willing to accept. Needless to say, I’m a bit disoriented after this long weekend.

Our time with JG’s family was a whirlwind of, um, lying around. I kept myself occupied (so to speak) by eating well, toasting marshmallows, and relaxing on a hammock. Oh, how I covet the hammock. Alongside his siblings, JG and I had our first experience with the Wii and I was completely unsurprised to find that it exposed my utter lack of coordination and depth perception. I was satisfied with cheering people on and taking fuzzy action shots. All in all, I couldn’t complain. We’re still working through the awkwardness inherent in having parents who are not used to having children who happen to be adults – or is that just weirdness that we have?

On Monday, we went to a friend’s house for a cookout, where there were hardcore games of badminton and quoits, mounds of yummy food, and a sweet border collie that I petted voluntarily. Reward, please! Despite a heavily humid morning, the soggy air cleared to reveal a gorgeous afternoon and an almost-full moon. JG hovered around the grill to show our host how to make “killer grill marks” and I brought a dessert called Berrymisú – a sweet combination of white cake, mixed berries, and whipped cream. It was appropriately red, white, and blue for a patriotic holiday but it was eaten so quickly that I have no photographic proof. I’ll have to keep that recipe around.

Dare I go there? All right, I will. I did, indeed, have a memorial weekend.

(Oh, that was pretty bad. I’m groaning with you.)

An Early Start

I didn’t mean to, but I’ve taken today off from work. (Woo!) See, I had every intention of working from home in the morning before JG and I leave for the weekend, but my laptop decided that it didn’t like our wireless network. It also didn’t like being connected via Ethernet cord. After some trial and error, I realized that my computer didn’t like to connect to anything that was not the docking station at my desk at the office. Which totally defeats the purpose of having a laptop. Argh.

Resigned, I submitted my helpdesk ticket to the tech team and turned in a revised time off form. In the end, I think it’s for the best for my sanity. This computer glitch gave me a four-day weekend and a whole morning to do laundry and prep what I needed for the weekend, and that’s always nice. I tend to be a miser when it comes to vacation hours, so this is probably a good exercise in not having control, even if makes me twitch.

Anyway, JG and I are headed up to Jersey this afternoon to spend the next few days with his family for the Memorial Day weekend. There will be grilling, hiking, and lying by the pool, and we’re coming home in time for a cookout with friends on Monday, so I believe we will have done our civic, American duty by reaching – nay – exceeding our fun quota. Booyah.

Happy Memorial Day! Best wishes for cool beverages and hot grills!

Finding the Right Words

I love to receive cards in the mail and I am incredibly picky about choosing them for others. For standard holidays or birthdays, I start hunting very early, in several stores, to make sure I find the best one for the person in mind. If I find one that’s perfect, but out of season, I stash it in a hiding place for a future appearance. There’s a sense of accomplishment that comes with finding the best card that fits my aesthetic demands and contains an appropriate greeting, with bonus points for color coordination with wrapping paper.

Sometimes, sniffing out the right card is really difficult. Purported humorous cards usually aren’t and I refuse to buy anything that blasts a song at me like a handheld MySpace page. My least favorite cards usually involve many layers to open up, piles of glitter, or a 20-line poem dripping with sap. I automatically reject cards on the basis of Too Many Words.

This week, I faced my biggest card-searching challenge: the sympathy card. The father of our college friend passed away very suddenly and unexpectedly, while at his son’s college graduation weekend. Our friend is getting married in two months and the whole situation is just indescribably sad. They don’t make cards with that much sympathy.

Instead, I have to choose from sanctimonious, preachy cardboard rectangles with watercolor images of lilies and butterflies, reassuring us that memories live on forever. Is my friend supposed to feel better by seeing curly script in the form of, “You’re not alone,” even if she feels like she’s alone? I need the card that says, “I’m so sorry and I know there’s nothing I can say that will be right, but I’m going to hope that saying something will help, even just a little bit.” Unfortunately, that one wouldn’t sell so well next to the card depicting a calming ocean scene.

Finally, I found a simple blue card that read, “Caring thoughts of sympathy are with you now.” Oh, relief. In times when words fall so short of the occasion, it’s not about the number of feel-good phrases or pretty packaging. I just wanted a place where I can write a line to let our friend know that we’re thinking about her. I’m glad that it’ll be on its way tomorrow morning.