The Longest Article Yet

Finally another article has hit newsstands (or the free boxes on the street corners of Augusta). This is my best yet. I hope you all enjoy reading it.

Find it at this link:
http://metrospirit.com/index.php?cat=1211101074307265&ShowArticle_ID=11011610070969312

Two New Articles

My mom reminded me that I should post these articles, my latest journalistic endeavors. Soon, I'll have a third and fourth to add.

The first is a link to my article Metro Spirit's website about an Augusta department that is being turned into condos and retail space:

http://metrospirit.com/index.php?cat=1993101074454885&ShowArticle_ID=11011809070574037

Next, is the text of a silly essay I wrote for the back page of the Spirit's special home section ("Abode"):



Camping Out with the In-Laws

Molly Brannan

The soldiers made up for their tiny size with tenacity, numbers, and the Creepy Effect. Too early one morning, as I opened the cabinet under the sink, it took me a few beats to realize what was wrong. The garbage can was in its spot. The trash was still inside it, including a cereal bag and its few, remaining crumbs.

But there was something black covering everything, something that moved like a huge, bumpy amoeba. Ants. Their scouts had found my high-fiber, low-fat, all-natural, too-expensive breakfast leftovers and had moved in, undetected, overnight. The adventures (or disasters) had just begun in what I like to call: Camping Out with the In-laws.

My fiancé and I are staying in the loft above his parents’ garage until we find a house of our own. Theirs is a beautiful property – both the big house and the little house – so “camping out” does not imply that our accommodations are shabby or that our hosts are anything but generous.

We have three black cats (my almost-in-laws are not cat people) and one black lab (they are not big dog people either), so we are forced to clean often. Even so, there seem to be a coincidentally high number of insect incidents that remind us, a la the house in the Shining, that we are not meant to be here forever. We may be mastering the steps in the dance-of-the-long-term-guests, but we are not permanent residents.

After the first ant encounter, we thought we had out-smarted them. I had wedged the cereal on a little ledge six feet off of the ground. We scrubbed, vacuumed, and swept, choosing not to use pesticides so close to our animals. We scrubbed, vacuumed, and swept again. We were sure that our kitchen was the least tasty on the block, and just in case the ants didn’t know, I told them in a flurry of curses.

We were wrong. The ants proved their love for golden oats and flax seed by a return visit, via the counter, the wall, and the cabinets. In one four-foot long stream of hungry troops, they raided my stash. I found them covering the box of cereal and the bag inside the box. I – the long-time vegetarian – took to killing them with my bare hands.

The ants also found an entrance through the crawl space on the second floor. They marched, single file into our bedroom through the space between the door and the wall. They went into our hamper where they roved – creepy! – in and out of our dirty clothes. Perhaps the last few dairy-free, vitamin-fortified crumbs called to them with the promise of a final well-balanced breakfast.

Although we have always seen our stay with my fiancé’s parents as being temporary, the search for a house of our own seem much more urgent. We have been told many times by the owners of the house that we are welcome to live here for as long as we like, and the uninvited guests agree. They only ask that we keep buying their favorite cereal.

Busy Bee

After months and months of not having much to do, I am suddenly crazy busy with two-and-a-half jobs and a promise to myself to train for another marathon. That said, I apologize for not contributing much to this blog recently.

While I'm still adjusting to my new schedule, I am going to add links to whatever I write for Metro Spirit (or any other publication), but I may not do much more than that. Hopefully things will settle down a little, and I'll want to write for fun more often. Until then, thank you for your patience.

cheers,
molly

Published at Last

While I've been bad about writing here, I do have (sort of) an excuse. And it's an exciting excuse. On top of the full-time job waiting tables and the part-time job freelance writing and editing for an education program, I have taken on another title: contributer to Augusta's local weekly paper, Metro Spirit.

Yesterday my first article appeared in the paper in yellow boxes across the area and on the Spirit's website. I am giddy. Here's the link: http://metrospirit.com/index.php?cat=1993101074450312&ShowArticle_ID=11002108071835366

I will continue to write for them on a part-time basis, covering stories of Augusta interest, and building my resume and knowledge of the real (not virtual) publishing world. I'll include links to my stories on this blog and prod you all to read them. Perhaps (fingers crossed) this could lead to a full-time, paying gig. At last, I have some good news!

Waiting Tables

Now that I'm in Augusta, I have found myself a semi-real job so that Dave and I can get serious about buying a house (and so that we can afford food). I am waiting tables at a really nice French bistro called Bistro 491, working nights four times a week.

It's been a challenge these past few days getting back into the restaurant schedule, especially standing for six hours straight. Hopefully the money will be good and it will allow me enough time and energy to pursue writing. I will try to update the blog regularly (I know it's been a little while), however, it may take a few weeks for me to adjust.

This is a short, wimpy post, I know. But I'm not going anywhere. Things are just changing - for the better this time!

Cheers.

The Saga of Job Hunting

Searching and applying for freelance writing jobs has only reinforced for me the idea that it's not what you know, it's who you know. And in an age when so many jobs are listed online, and no personal contact is ever made, finding a job as a new writer seems next to impossible.

After deciding to really make a go of this whole freelance thing, I have applied for forty or fifty jobs. (I haven't added them up, though. It'd be too depressing.) In my excited, naive state, I initially thought that my education and experience with writing in and out of school would really help my chances. The whole Brown University, having-written-a-book thing seemed unusual in a good way. Now, though, it seems unusual but not all that helpful.

What these people who are looking for writers really want is to know you before they hire you. Ideally, they would know you personally or as a friend-of-a-friend. The next best thing is to know you via the publications for which you've already worked. It seems like the writing sample itself ranks far below the title of the newspaper or magazine that appears over it. And if your writing hasn't appeared in anything familiar, your potential bosses aren't willing to read much further.

Now this is all speculation, of course. I don't actually know what they are thinking when they hire one person and don't hire another. I would know if they actually ever wrote back... but don't get me started on that. It just seems like this huge catch 22: employers want you to have extensive experience with well-known publications, but you can't get jobs with those publications (or any for that matter) without extensive experience at well-known publications.

I guess the only way is to keep trying and to hope that someone will take a chance on a brash, young kid with big dreams.

Cheers.

Brainstorm

While never drawn to fiction writing, I suddenly have a new idea for a book in mind. I'm going to use this space to work through the beginning stages, to see if it's really something I should spend time on. If you read this, thank you! I hope it's not too journal-ly for a blog. Also, please give me feedback if you have any.

After reading two wonderful books - Year of Wonders and The Red Tent - and watching a lot of episodes of a Discovery Health show - House of Babies - during my recovery, I am intrigued by midwifery. Thus, the subject of my book was sparked.

So, a book about midwives. I was thinking it could be a little like The Hours meets As I Lay Dying. It would move from character to character every chapter, with each character coming from a different period in time. They could all face different problems, both social problems and difficult childbirths. They would all, obviously, have different personalities.

One midwife could be working around the time of the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament), a la the Red Tent. Or maybe it should be in a little bit different time period to distinguish itself. Anyway, it'd be a long time ago. I think this would be a good way to show how women have had to face similar struggles for thousands of years.

The second midwife could be from the seventeenth century, perhaps living with the first English settlers in Plymouth. I recently read a little blurb about Puritans and sex (yes, they can coexist in the same sentence!) that talked about how they were not quite as prude as we think they were.

I'd also love, for similar reasons, to bring in a midwife from the Victorian era. Although, maybe I should focus on another part of the world instead of the West. India perhaps? This reminds me of another favorite book, Holder of the World. Again, this could help show similarities between women from different places and times.

Finally, to connect this story to modern women, I'd like to have one of my midwives living within the last fifty years. It could sort of tie the whole thing together.

So, what do you think? Would it be something you'd like to read?

Cheers.

Mongolia Lost and Found (Part Three)

(again, written by Bill Shields)

There is still no verbal understanding, so raised voices and vigorously jerking arm motions are our only means of communicating our demands. They are very mad but stop short of any physical attempt to get us on the buses where most others reside. We even resort to a little laughing and smiling to give an air of superiority that is intended to push them over the edge. We think that they have surrendered as they lead us away from the buses and toward a ticket counter where we assume they will return our bags. No such luck.

They are now pointing toward the conveyor belt that normally takes our bags to a place only God and Confucius knows. Now they are smiling. We recognize the international translation for ‘if you want your damn bags so bad go find them yourself’. To their surprise and visible consternation Cho and I think this may be the appropriate end to a lousy day, so we decide to take them up on their offer.

There is a low ceiling so we duck-walk down the conveyor and through the hole at the end that leads us under the airport. There is a rubber slide that descends into an enormous cement warehouse that is full of carts with luggage of every size and color. The carbon monoxide is so thick you can literally watch it move with the wave of a hand. I can’t believe anyone actually survives working in this environment. We begin our search.

It is amazing that within a fairly short time we find our luggage at the bottom of a cart and proceed to pull and kick our luggage free. Now it is back to duck-walking up the conveyor belt and back out into the main airport. Our hosts are still there and their dismay at our success is only exceeded by their knowledge that our life has been cut short by consumption of lethal levels of carbon monoxide. Back to the buses we go.

All is quiet – but only briefly. The young Slavs have decided it is time for a sing along. I have been watching this smiley group of young people now for some time trying to categorize their nationality. It is impossible and I finally decide why – they are gypsies and call no single place their home. The men are all incredibly handsome and the women beautiful. Their upbeat nature seems natural and can only mean one thing – they have no rules. The rest of us are a package deal. They care not and proceed to dance and sing. It is obvious joy and their intent is to spread that among the rest of us whether we want it or not.

It is impossible not to participate and we are relatively sure that the words do not involve any gypsy curses or death wishes to all non gypsy-like civilizations. I am watching the North Koreans and they are clearly uncomfortable with joy and looking for an exit. In the end even they succumb, but cover Kim Il-Sung’s eyes so he cannot see they are enjoying themselves. This is a macabre scene and visions of Hans Solo walking into a Martian bar appear in my head.

It is now about 9 PM and we are whipped as we pull up to the hotel...Cho and I locate our tour agent and declare we will not be staying in this hotel. Voices are raised once again and we think they are telling us that we aren’t even really supposed to be in China so they cannot let us go. We smile, shake our heads that we understand, and then we leave. To our surprise there is no pursuit...We drag our luggage across the street to a Holiday Inn...

The next morning we arrive back at the Bates Motel and board the buses with the living dead. Even the gypsies are a little subdued but maybe they are not morning people. The North Koreans look rested because this has probably been a holiday for them compared to their usual digs. And they have been given time to regain their composure and stone looks.

The trip back to the airport is quiet and uneventful. We do not have to go through immigration because technically we were never really in China in the first place. We actually board the plane with no further delay and I am mildly surprised that there is no livestock aboard. We are off.

The Jungle Gym

Whenever I'm in a new, uncomfortable, bizarre, or slightly unusual situation, I try to look at my environment as a writer would. I pretend that I am working on a story. How would I describe the characters? What are their backgrounds? Why do people do the things they do? This technique has gotten me through some sketchy stuff, and I recommend it highly.

An opportunity to use the Fake Journalist Perspective arose recently when Lindsay, my almost-sister-in-law, took me to the gym at their parents' country club. It's a great place to work out - there are rows of machines and freeweights, the floor to ceiling windows look out onto the sunlit golf course, and the 9 am crowd is older and quiet. No sketchyness. But it does have that certain quality all gyms have, which got me thinking about their common atmosphere as a writer would.

Why is it that no matter where you are, no matter what time of day you are working out, and no matter how elderly your fellow exercisers are, people always check each other out? I don't mean gym people ogle one another (although there's some of that too). It's more of a subtle, "how fast is she going on the elliptical" check-out. And the worst part is that I find myself doing the same thing! I think, "Let's see. Little miss pink shorts leg-pressed 80 pounds. Hm. I'll do 200!"

This brings me to another observation: there are very few women really lifting weights at the gym. I think many of us fear we're going to get huge, shiny muscles if we try for 10 more pounds. Also, sadly, many women just don't know how to lift properly. So I'm left to myself, lugging around freeweights, gritting my teeth, and sweating EVERYWHERE. Not attractive, you say? That's probably another reason why women are scared of weights.

Thus, I say to women everywhere: you're not going to get gigantic if you lift weights. It's better for your metabolism, your cardiovascular system, and your bones. It'll make you look better too. Don't worry about what the other person is doing. Don't worry about looking like a tomboy. Learn how to do a few things with the right form, and soon, you'll be leaner and stronger, which is tres chic.

Cheers.

Mongolia Lost and Found (Part Two)

We are herded into a room where we wait to board our flight. It is about 9 AM. We look around and see a most eclectic group that will join us on our journey. The smorgasbord includes Mongolians (obviously), Chinese, Russians, North and South Koreans, and a group of Slavic looking young people that are way too happy...It is easy to tell the South Koreans from the North Koreans because they sit at opposite ends of the room and refuse even to make eye contact... In order to dispel any doubts about their political aspirations the North Koreans all sport a large picture of their fearless leader Kim Il-Sung on their lapel. He does not wear a smile either. Their refusal to communicate or look happy confirms their communist convictions. Not a happy crew and proud of it.

The time for our departure, approximately 10 AM, has come and gone. It is now mid afternoon and I find myself beginning to join the commies thinking my glass too is only half full and quickly on its way to a quarter full....None of [the Chinese] speak English so our pleas to determine what has gone wrong go ignored. We see that the North Koreans can speak Chinese and have information on the disposition of our flight. I have convinced Cho to cross the DMZ and address his countrymen to the North. They refuse to answer and literally turn their backs on him. Cho commands a new found display of English as he returns muttering “son of a bitch”. He also displays his patience and fortitude and on his third try one of the Koreans finally tells him our flight has been cancelled due to a snow storm in Ulaanbaatar. It is now 5 PM. We have been waiting for 8 hours, and the Slavic crazies in the corner of the room are still smiling. This is where the fun truly begins.

A Chinese official appears and asks us to follow him to a location unknown. We are guessing that we are in for an overnight stay in Beijing only because that is the standard outcome for this type of situation. Most of this is conjecture because all communication continues to be in Chinese only. We figure it is a good bet to follow the North Koreans, at least until, and unless, they begin to display warlike gestures.

We head toward some buses lined up outside until one of the Chinese officials realizes that we have all previously cleared immigration, so in effect we have already been sent out of the country and cannot be allowed back in. It is obvious they have no idea in hell what they are going to do with us so we are all gathered in the middle of a large room and they surround us with a rope that they are sure will prevent us from escaping and wreaking havoc among the masses. They still refuse to acknowledge that most of the Chinese population has access to the internet and are madly connecting to the outside world even as we stand corralled. Televised reruns of Bonanza no longer carry interest here. But I digress.

Our little group is now getting pretty testy and beginning to show signs of declaring independence when the Chinese decide the best solution is to declare us all persona non grata and take us to a local hotel. It strikes Cho and I that there has been no discussion about our luggage and we have the feeling that a) we may never see it again and b) we are beginning to smell bad. We decide, along with 3 or 4 others, that we will refuse to board the buses until our bags are found. The cold war escalates.

Journaling: Getting Started

Talking to Bill Shields about his Mongolia piece reminded me of how many people express a desire to write about their experiences but lack the motivation to do so. They usually don't mean they want to write for publication; instead they want a record of their lives for themselves, their children, and their grandchildren. However, those who want to write but don't are put-off by the time commitment and the having-to-remember-to-do-it. Sometimes, they're right. But most of the time the rewards reaped from journaling overwhelm the downsides. There are a few simple tricks I've learned over the years that will make journaling seem less like a bad, long-term relationship and more like a romantic give-and-take.

1. Use a journal you like.

If you can't even write clearly in a notebook or don't like the way it looks, how can you expect to make journaling a part of your routine? Spend some time figuring out what style of book works best for you. This may seem like a silly detail, but if journaling becomes a daily habit, it makes a big difference. In my experience, the spiral-bound journals with lines are the easiest to use, and I don't like my pages too big (because they make my entries seem so small!)

2. Pick a good time of day.

You can write in the morning, on your lunch break, or before bed. Just find a time of day (and a place) that makes the most sense for you, a time that you are focused and can reflect on events without being to sleepy or rushed to put pen to paper. Again, a small detail with a big effect.

3. Write for yourself.

Even if you think generations to come will only know you through your journal, try not to censure yourself. Keeping the potential longevity of your words in mind may help you to focus on the bigger issues in your life, but editing out information just because you don't want your grandchildren to read something uncouth takes away your record's authenticity.

4. Keep it real.

Speaking of authenticity, writing an accurate account of what happens is the point of keeping a journal, isn't it? So, if you're mad, write about how mad you are. If you're annoyed with having to write everything down, write about how annoyed you are. And if you're over-the-moon, write about that too. Don't worry that you might seem like you're silly or angry. Just write the truth.

5. Try. But don't try too hard.

Like anything else, if you write in your journal regularly, it will become a part of your routine. Soon you won't be able to go to bed or make breakfast without jotting something down. Because I'm such a routine-based person, I write in my journal at the same time and in the same format. If I miss a few days, I beat myself up about it. Not good. For any of you who want to begin writing, I would recommend doing what I am trying to start doing after nine years of journaling (and 23 years of life): relax. It's no big deal if you miss some days because you're busy or tired. There (literally) is a blank page waiting.

If anyone has any more suggestions I can add, please let me know!

Cheers.

Mongolia Lost and Found (Part One)

This is my first guest-blog. Written by Bill Shields, it will be published in installments.

It is July of 1994 and my new boss, the latest in a succession of many, has decided in his wisdom that Mongolia is the new frontier for the production of outerwear. I can only conjure a picture of the descendants of the great Khan gathered in a desert tent huddled over sewing machines – but I am on the way to see for myself.

I am traveling with Y H Cho who is our Asian manager inherited from the recent merger of London Fog and Pacific Trail. I don’t know it at the time but this trip will cement a friendship that will last a lifetime. Like many things in Asia Cho is a paradox of gentleness combined with fierce negotiating skills. In later years we become convinced that we must have known each other in a previous life and are still working out our Karma. I am almost sure he was the old woman that responded to my every command as I was growing up in ancient China, and he is sure he was the King and I the court jester with orders to keep him happy. We will never know and the only thing we know for now is that neither of us has any idea what to expect in Mongolia.

We are headed for the capitol of Mongolia, Ulaanbaatar, which when you look at a map is centrally located in the middle of nowhere. Mongolia appears to be the size of the North America continent but with only 3 cities seemingly non-strategically placed.

There is only one way to get to Ulaanbaatar and that is through Beijing, China. There is also only one airline that will take us there – you guessed it – Mongolia Airlines. Dancing in my head are visions of recently trained pilots in fur hats pulled tightly over their ears, excited about being given the opportunity to test their new skills at the wheel of a jumbo jet. Traveling the globe you either sign on for the ride or you don’t, so I meditate my pulse to a calm 110 and move forward through Chinese immigration. Another stamp is added to my passport by a government employee who looks at us with disdain and says “next” for the millionth time that day.

Why We Write

When the frustrations of freelance writing, the lack of motivation to keep looking, and the rejections pile up, sometimes the reason why we freelancers have chosen this unconventional, often overwhelming lifestyle gets muddied. Why did we not go to business school, law school, or medical school? Why do we put our hearts into our work only to have them changed or, worse, turned down? Why don't we just quit and get a job at the grocery store or at a restaurant?

Luckily, I have good answers to all three questions:

1. Why did we not go to business school, law school, or medical school?

We didn't want to be like "everyone else". Remember talking to your peers about their plans for the future? In my case it wasn't that long ago that we were seniors in college, and it seemed like everyone was going to be an investment banker or a doctor. I still didn't have a clue what I really wanted - social work? veterinary school? - but I knew that writing was and had always been my passion. Even in our confusion, we freelancers knew that we wanted something else. It is a career that is no nobler than what our friends do. It is just a little more eccentric.

2. Why do we put our hearts into our work only to have them changed or, worse, turned down?

The risk of every artistic adventure, rejection is as common now as it has ever been. And yet artists continue to put up with it. Why? The answer may be as simple as the rewards for creating something that others enjoy outweigh the many, many rejections leading up to that point. Perhaps, however, it could be that we are all stubborn, masochistic, tortured artists. I prefer Option A.

3. Why don't we just quit and get a job at the grocery store or at a restaurant?

This is more complicated because many freelancers do have day jobs at grocery stores and restaurants. Without them, many of us couldn't afford to write or couldn't dream of making freelance a fulltime job. But let me encourage you, even if you do work part-time in the real world, not to make it the only thing you do. It's worth it to keep writing, especially if you are stubborn, masochistic, and tortured (but maybe that's why you work in a restaurant).

Adventures in Organic Land

While in a fit of do-gooderness, my mom and I decided to make a trip to our local farmers' market to scope out the wares and support some other do-gooders. We discovered a man selling organic candles with names like "Blue Ridge Rain" and "Maymont Gardens". Not only did he make beautiful products that smell divine, but he was just a regular guy informing us through his livelihood about changes we can make to be better, greener consumers. Who knew that candles were bad for the environment? It turns out that the non-organic kind are the by-products of petroleum refining process and are therefore contributing to poor air quality (check out this article). Plus, the organic ones supposedly last longer.

In addition to the organic candles, Mom and I picked out a few veggies from a farm booth. It was the perfect farmers' market scene: the whole family was manning the stand, telling their customers about the products, the youngest girl helping us pick out the best purple heirloom tomato. Inspired, we went to our local organic supermarket to find other products: Dr. Bronner's Soaps for Mom (which is the focus of a new documentary) and the Thai Stick Deodorant for me. The Thai Stick is an "Aluminum Free Crystal Deodorant Stone" that you wet and rub on like any other deodorant. I know, it sounds really weird. I used it this morning and went on a walk that got me all sweaty. Normally I'd either be reeking of baby powder, a field of artificial flowers, or rankness. Instead, I smell like... nothing! A miracle indeed.

I hope to continue documenting the lessons I learn and the people I meet while trying to become a little more green. I will also try not to be too didactic or high-and-mighty. I promise.
In the meantime, check out these additional sites for products, recipes, and links:

Molly Katzen
Nature's Gate
Organic Gardening
Seventh Generation

For Freelancers: Frustrations (Part II)

Another frustration that goes hand-in-hand with not finding a job, is finding the perfect job, spending an hour on a cover letter or application, and hearing back a week later that your writing samples were "not satisfactory for our needs." The emails always seem to end with "but don't let this discourage you..." Thanks. I was about to give up on writing and throw myself off my roof until I read that last sentence.

Sarcasm aside, it is discouraging to have someone, especially someone you did your best to sell on your talents, tell you no. And it happens constantly. I was even rejected from a sentence project that was a no-brainer and extremely low-paying. At least I'm not alone - check out this blog devoted to rejections, called Literary Rejections on Display. When I get one of these emails, I want to write back, typing feverishly "But I'm really good. I'll meet all your deadlines and work hard. Really!" Instead, I have to suck it up and begin the search again.

Even though rejections are bad, I can't decide which is worse: getting a letter from an employer telling you "thanks but no thanks" or not hearing anything at all. The former hurts the ego, but the latter is probably more frustrating. What business doesn't have the time to send out some dumb form letter?! As you can tell, it really gets my goat. If I'm ever in the position where I'm asking people to take time out of their day to apply for a job, then writing back is the first thing I'm going to do. Instead of saying "don't let this discourage you" maybe I'll just say (because then I'll be a famous writer) "I promise it will get better. Keep trying."

Cheers.

For Freelancers: Frustrations (Part I)

It seemed as though I had looked at every website on the Internet yesterday, and there were still no new jobs to be found. I even checked my favorite job sites two or three times, hoping that in the two minutes since I looked last, there would be a perfect job waiting. Maybe it would even have blinking text or, preferably, my name in bold.

This happens a lot. It may have something to do with being a new freelancer, or it may just be an occupational hazard. Either way, not finding any jobs I'm qualified to apply for has become a lesson in patience and creativity. And the more experience I gain, the more I see how vital this lesson is to any freelancer in any field. So what exactly have I learned so far?

1. There is always something to do. You may not constantly have jobs to apply for or to work on, but you can use that lull to edit your writing, compile or tighten your portfolio, and work on your blog. If nothing else needs work, do laundry.

2. Take a break from the computer. If you are frustrated with the job search (or anything else), take a quick walk or do another miscellaneous chore. A break can pep you up enough to continue the search or help you decide to stop for the day.

3. There are places you haven't looked. New freelance websites are popping up all of the time, and many of them have job boards. If you're desperate, you can always check Craigslist.org in other cities; sometimes they have telecommuting jobs listed in only one spot.

4. Get creative and apply for everything. Sometimes a job may not seem like it's perfect for you, but they seldom are. You may have to tailor your resume and highlight skills in your cover letter you aren't used to highlighting. But you never know - you could be just what they want.

The One-Legged Girl

As many of you know, I had surgery on my foot a few weeks ago to remove some nasty souvenirs from college. Thank you, Brown Women's Crew locker room. While it's been a bit of a shock not being able to run every day or even to walk long distances, this experience, like so many others in recent months, have put my life - past and present - into perspective.

The night of the procedure, I gained an overwhelming sense of clarity. It may have been from the burning, friction-y pain of damaged toes keeping me awake or the realization that I couldn't move like I had always moved. Either way, it was a moment of discovering one of those little truths I wrote about yesterday.

No longer able to run, I came to see how running fit into the rest of my life. It had been something I found when my mom was so sick and had, from then on, been a way for me to release stress and meditate. I had made friends through running (and other sports), and working toward a goal gave me a sense of purpose and then a sense of accomplishment.

It's not all so noble, though. Running and fitness had also become an obsession. I worked out almost every day, no matter how lousy I was feeling, because I wanted to be thin. I looked at my stomach in the mirror constantly. That's hard enough to say, but even harder to say is this: I still do.

So where is this new found perspective you ask? Well, I think it's in the baby steps. Because I have not ballooned up to 300 pounds, I am starting to realize that running was not the only factor in the equation. Plus, the workouts I do now, which consist of a lot of stretching, light weights, yoga, and Pilates (all on one foot) are relaxing. I look forward to the activity itself more and not just to the end of the workout. I have even done a few without looking at the clock - a big deal.

Hopefully, once I am able to run, I will learn from this respite from the sport. I won't run everyday. I'll do a workout because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. I'll try a new sport. And I may even leave the watch at home.

Cheers.

Changes

As you can tell, I am playing with the design of the blog. What do you think?

When Bad Stuff Happens...

As someone who believes in a higher power as well as all of the perks that go with having someone looking out for the world (justice, karma, etc.), I find myself at an impasse when bad things happen to what seem like genuinely good people. However, I am not naive enough to think that I am alone in my confusion. I even took an entire college course on the history of such befuddlement (The Philosophy of Religion). People having been asking the same questions for thousands of years. What I find interesting about the subject - and interesting about my own questions - is not that we have asked but that we have expected to find the "real" answers.

My mom sent me her horoscope this morning. It begins "What is the meaning of life? Is there such a thing as free will? Why is there something rather than nothing? If God exists, why does he or she seem to be invisible? Dear Leo, questions like those I just asked are completely irrelevant to you right now. To ponder them for even a few minutes would be a waste of time." He then suggests Leos ask other questions that pertain to their own fears and love.

What is so wrong about asking questions about God? Is it a waste of time? I think these questions can be valuable as long as our expectations are not to figure out The Truth. In fact, we know that it's impossible for us to figure it out. Instead, what if we ask questions about God, the universe, and ourselves with the hope of coming to our personal-right-here-right-now truths? I suppose that some may use this as a licence to do whatever they want, regardless of the harm it causes, because its their truth. But people do this all of the time anyway. Most of us, though, have a conscience as well as a desire to life good lives, so a personal truth can only help.

I have been asking such questions about God and myself more frequently lately, searching for that small, personal truth. One of the things I've been considering is the common notion I talked about earlier: good things go to good people and bad things to bad. What if there is more to it than that? What if "bad things" are not punishments but are instead lessons in disguise? Those of us who seem to be good people with bad luck are actually then a select group. Like a well-tended compost pile, we have a chance to take a bunch of rotten crap and turn it into beauty by spreading valuable nutrients: kindness and patience. This, at least for now, is what I have come to understand as one of my own little truths. What are yours?

Cheers,
Molly

Green is Sexy

Blue Ridge Outdoors, one of my favorite magazines, has their green issue on newsstands now. It is chock full of information about environmental issues, local people who are making a difference, and ways that you and I can create change in our own lives. I feel inspired, guilty (I remember every time I left my cell phone charger plugged in), and enlightened, as the green movement grows and grows. Finally, one mainstream trend I can feel good about following!

This is not to say that I am a Green Poster Girl. I still buy plastic all of the time, I eat non-organic dairy products, and I'm stubborn about holding on things I know are toxic (running shoes, for example). Does anyone else struggle with being both "comfortable" and "good"? Sometimes, especially after watching something like the film The Corporation, I want to give all my stuff away and live in the woods. But other times, I really like soaking in the tub or watching television. Where's the middle ground? How do I live my life responsibly without becoming a fanatic?

I'd appreciate any advice or stories of similar confusion. Until I find The Way, maybe little changes will take me there with baby steps. One thing I am excited about is freelance writing from home. Not only can I work in my ratty clothes, I may not ever have to buy a car! And my new passion for going green gives me lots of new material.

Searching for Jobs

The Internet has opened up a whole new venue for freelance writers. Craigslist.org alone has made searching for gigs a snap, and there continue to be more and more telecommuting jobs for websites that are shooting up like dandelions.

That said, I am still aware every time I find a great position there are thousands of other people who are hipper and more experienced looking at it too. But if it's an interesting opportunity, it's hard not to get excited. Sometimes I'm right and it really is a good job, but sometimes I'm oh-so-wrong. I'm still trying to figure out how to be the former more often.

The other day, for example, I was looking at one of my favorite websites for job listings, and I happened by a firm's posting. They said they needed academic papers written for their clients (super), and they'd pay minimum $450 per article (way super). The application process was very simple - too simple. And the instructions they sent back were detailed - too detailed. They even wanted a bunch of documentation before I started: a scanned bank statement, passport, and college transcript. But their website did seem legitimate, and they were willing to pay more than other places...

This is the part of the story that makes me glad to be wary about the Internet. I still get things sent to me on paper because it seems weird to do all of this, especially business transactions, without having anything tangible. Anyway, I did some research on this big firm. Guess what?! I ran into writers' forum after writers' forum where this company was the sole topic of conversation. They have a reputation for trying to scam their freelancers by docking their pay or not paying them at all.

If you are a freelance writer reading this (or anyone who does business of the Internet) please do your research before you hand stuff over. And remember: better, more satisfying gigs will eventually appear to make you miss that $450 less. I hope.

Cheers.

New to the Blog

I've decided that I am going to use this blog as a way to continue writing for the internet, and I am hoping that it will eventually create some interest in the freelance writing I'm doing now (and trying to do in the future). While it's a personal blog - I'll write some stuff about me, recipes I like, websites that are interesting, etc. - the theme is going to be freelance writing.

That said, if any of you happen to have any interesting experiences about writing and/or freelance writing, please share them! I will be happy to post them with your name in the byline. I would also appreciate any comments about the posts or the rest of the site. Finally, if you have any interesting links you'd like me to add, please let me know.

Phew

It's been a long time since I wrote anything. Since I think I'm probably the only one reading this, I haven't been good about putting anything into cyberspace. But I will leave an update about Dave and myself.

He's already in Georgia with the stuff and the animals, and after I go to the foot doctor and spend some more time with my mom, I'll be there too.

Most everything is up in the air about the move - housing, jobs, etc. But one good piece of news is that I am starting to work on some freelance writing jobs, which is what I've always wanted to do. Once I actually have a paycheck (and it's really official) I'll put up some links to the websites. Hopefully, I'll be able to maintain them with some regularity!

Cheers.

Maiden Voyage

Hooray! This is my first posting EVER on this, my new blog. You'll have to bear with me as I figure out what blogging is all about and begin to shape my debut on the web. While initially begun as an experiment / place to practice my craft (writing, of course) / way to get my name out into the world, it may transform itself into something else. We shall see.

Cheers,
Molly O.