30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 1

I found this on Pintrest a while back and I pinned it thinking, someday this will be fun to do. Well, someday always comes and goes. So, today's someday. Today is the day I start this challenge. And I'm excited. To work on my photography, to use my new camera, to play around a bit. So here goes...

Day 1 - Self Portrait

Some days I might caption the photo or write a little something about it, other days I might just post the photo. We'll see how it goes. But today, I wanted to write a little something. I have read several articles lately about self esteem and selfies (photos we take of ourselves, usually on our phones). Some think the practice is ridiculous. Some think the practice is empowering. I don't know exactly what I think about the practice except I do know that I take selfies. And I usually enjoy doing so. But I usually only post them if I'm looking my best, if I crop them and Instagram them into pretty hues and soft lighting. And in one of the articles I read the author talked about how we should take pictures when we're not at our best, when we're sad or mad or anything other than happy and doing something fun/exciting. And I like that idea. That most moments I capture are positive and I am looking my best. But that's not representative of my life every day, every moment. Most of the time I don't want to take a selfie. Or if I did, I'd hate the result. So today I took a photo of myself at work. Without makeup. Hair in braids. Plain ole black tee. No jewelry. Old stained Tigger mug of lukewarm, watered down tea. Messy desk. And I took it on my new camera so I couldn't Instagram it to make it look cuter. This is me. This is how I look every day. This is my self portrait.

P.S. - This was my first time using the self-time function on my camera and I took 10 photos in 10 seconds. The other 9 were mostly me with my eyes closed so I did choose the one with my eyes open, full disclosure. But I love that feature. 

The backpacks are here!

We opened the giant box the mail lady dropped on the front step and immediately put them on. We were like little kids getting our backpacks for the first day of school (although, we didn't get new backpacks growing up, that seems to be a new phenomenon for kids). We zipped and unzipped, discovered the little hidden pockets and the big not so hidden pockets. We adjusted straps and started thinking about what would go where. A water bottle, a map, the camera case, a change of shoes, so much!

These are the backpacks Angela and I got for our trip to Paris this summer. We wanted something easy to maneuver with since we'll be taking planes, trains, buses, etc. all around Paris and London. We decided early on to forgo large suitcases and backpacks seemed like a logical alternative. So we'll each take two pieces of luggage. The above packs and our carry on sized rolling suitcases.

We've gotten better at packing light over the years. Traveling cross country will do that. I still remember heading back to Kalamazoo one winter after Christmas break and my car being packed to the ceiling of stuff. Now it's hard to imagine that a few suitcases is all I get to go back and forth with. But we're lucky, most of our traveling is to our parents' so we don't take much in the way of toiletries (though one should pack contacts, an item I forgot this winter!) or extras. However, Paris will be different.

In way of preparations we're already deep in the thick of it. We've booked our hotel rooms in Paris (still figuring out London), we've booked our airfare (through Montreal, which we won't see much of since our layover is 50 minutes long which the nice Air Canada woman explained to me yesterday would, in fact, be a sufficient amount of time to get from gate to gate and through customs though I'm still a wee bit skeptical), and we've started collecting supplies.

So far we've purchased the backpacks, four extra memory cards for my camera (we can now take approximately seven billion snapshots), a holder for said cards, and we're making lists galore. I've designated one new shirt for the trip and we've began another list of what we still need to get in terms of clothes and shoes (a pair of sandals is arriving in the mail today for me - here's hoping no blisters!).

I've also started listening to French Coffeebreak podcasts to brush up on my French. Six years of studying the language sounds great until I realize I last cracked a French textbook fifteen years ago. We're still pouring over the travel guides and need to firm up itineraries in order to make some ticket purchases before we go. But most of all?

I'm excited! Beyond excited. I've only traveled to Canada and Mexico before and while those have been fun adventures, it's been nothing like this. (Heck, I've only spent one night in Mexico and it was on a friend's couch!) Our amazing cousin Doris who is a world traveler (literally - she travels constantly for work and fun) has even gotten caught up in the excitement. She emailed this week to see what kind of adapters we were getting for our electronics. I love that! I love that my dad sends me apps to help with museum tours and everything else Paris related. I love the anticipation of having something so wonderful to look forward to.

There's still a lot to do, a lot to collect, a lot to check off the lists. But most of all, there's a lot to look forward to.

Feedback is scary but...

It's been a rough week work-wise. I've been feeling very down in the dumps about my situation. Throughout December I was on such a high regarding my writing and the staged reading and then had a terrific holiday in Michigan and then came back to an empty inbox, no phone calls and stacks of scripts on my desk with no where to go. Depressing to say the least.

To top it all off? I'd received feedback in late December from a source I was excited about. I sent them my favorite script, the baseball one, and was itching with excitement. And the feedback was negative. I was crushed. I put it away and let the negativity fester in my mind until I decided maybe I wasn't supposed to be a writer after all. Maybe I'd squandered my time these past five years when I could have been getting a teaching certificate or some other marketable skill. I was basically screwed. Or so I thought.

Then this week I spoke with a friend. She had received similar feedback on two of her scripts from a similar source. We commiserated and complained and lifted each other up. But it felt a little artificial because deep down we both wondered if this was the plan. So we agreed to read each other's work, read the feedback and discuss. Honestly. Openly. Without regards of the other person's feelings.

I set about reading her script this week. I talked to her and gave her my notes and we agreed some changes could be made. But I still couldn't bring myself to read my notes again. I printed them on Thursday and left them on the printer all day and all night. Friday morning the black words on that stark white paper stared up at me. I had to face the music. So yesterday I took the two pages and I read them through. I distilled the feedback down into bullet points on two note cards. I used a purple pen and thought the notes didn't look as scary in my own handwriting. And a lot of the notes were the same. Over and over again. I wrote down the very few strengths the feedback listed and put stars by those. My script had some merit. It had potential the feedback reminded me. And then I set the cards aside.

This morning my friend called me and we talked about my script for over an hour. I took four pages of legal pad notes. I scribbled and circled and wrote faster than my brain could process. And you know what? I got excited about my script again and the opportunity for a rewrite. I realized, with my friend's not so gentle reminder, that my script is well done, that my characters are interesting and that I'm actually a very good writer. She told me much of the feedback was bullshit and I wrote that in large letters on my note cards as I crossed things out.

But more than anything? She gave me these awesome notes on things I should work on. This feedback, which I was terrified of, was actually a blessing in disguise. It got me to look at my script objectively, for the first time in months, and to consider what's best for the story. It got me to remember how much I love writing and frankly, rewriting is writing.

So this week I'll take the notes I made, all of them, and get to work. I'll take the ideas sprung from those stark white pages, and the conversation my friend and I had, and I'll make this script I love so much better. And by Friday? I'll have a draft that I'm even happier with and more proud to send out with my name boldly centered on the front page.

And I'll have to remind myself over and over, a million times, that feedback is scary but it's also vital. Oh so vital.

The Music of My Life

There has been an item on my To-Do List for over two years now: put CDs onto computer and get rid of CDs. It was something I'd been putting off and I don't know why. I'd gotten rid of the VHS tapes without much ceremony. I'd been digitalizing photos and lots of paper, trying to go all digital. I'm not a hoarder but I do like to keep mementos and lets face it, my CDs are mementos. 

When Angela and I got the two giant black CD books out of the closet this weekend I wasn't sure what to expect. Before we moved we'd gotten rid of all the CD cases and put the covers and CDs in these cases. But I hadn't looked at the cases for some time. If I wanted a CD or a particular song, maybe. But for the most part? The music languished up there behind the boxes of Halloween and Christmas candles. 

So Saturday morning we flipped through the pages and immediately began reminiscing. The worship CD from the Christmas Youth Conference we attended when I was still in high school. My first ever CD: Whitney by Whitney Houston. My copy of the Rent soundtrack, the soundtrack I memorized long before I ever saw the show on a stage. The Jennifer Knapp Kansas CD that I listened to over and over when I first moved to Olivet. I remember lying on my egg carton bed, on my sleeping bag on the floor of the room I shared with Kelly and Tracy in Brewer House, learning every single word to that CD until I sang it in my sleep. The Alanis Morisette CD that I would end up singing as I drove the tractor at work that summer while I grated the camping ground roads (this was long before iPods and it's a good thing I was on that tractor all by my lonesome because I'd scream her songs so loud).

The Ellis Paul CD pictured above was from a concert I attended in Olivet. I still know all the words to all of his songs. When I put it in my car CD player this week I was amazed how I was immediately transported back to 2000 and that big old church where I closed my eyes and listened to Paul on his guitar. I'd forgotten about that night until I saw the signature above.

I listen to music almost daily. I can't usually drive without it. Rarely do I write or work without it. If I need quiet I turn to Yo Yo Ma or something similar. If I'm writing about Detroit it might be Eminem. If I'm feeling upset I might turn up Aerosmith or something from high school. If I'm in need of head space I'll put on John Mayer or Vonda Shepard and let the music I know so well wash over me without even noticing.

And this project had an added bonus I hadn't even thought about. So many of my CDs hadn't ever been transferred to my computer before now so I hadn't spent time listening to some of my favorites. I have every Garth Brooks CD and I'd forgotten how great he is. I'd forgotten that so many of my early CDs were birthday and Christmas gifts and how exciting it was to wait for a new album. I saw handwritten notes in several and I love that I cared so much about music at an early age. And that people around me nurtured that. It didn't matter if it was country, rock, rap, indie, my family bought me the music I wanted. And as a result, I love everything so much. I see the beauty in a metal song or a ballad. I see the sweetness in a Childish Gambino rap as much as I do a Celine Dion song.

Over 300 CDs. Almost two weeks worth of music. I've spent the week rediscovering old favorites and singing along, loudly. Music is everywhere. And now? All of it's on my phone in my pocket wherever I go. Amazing.

No idea what's next

A few minutes ago I submitted final grades for my latest (and potentially) last class with the University of Phoenix. I will check in through Friday but after that, I don't know when or if I'll teach for them again. As a teacher under contract for each class each semester for the past five years, this is not news to me. But this time, it feels a little different. I was informed (via email memo) last year that the university was going through some changes and they would need less adjunct professors. Then I applied for a full-time job with them and wasn't interviewed. And so, this could really be the end of an era for me. I have no idea.

It may be my chance to rise like a Phoenix and fly off on my own. Only time (and a contract or not) will tell.

So for now, I have no idea what's next. I'm unemployed. Again. I got my final editing paycheck for a freelance gig last week. The woman I'd been working with has gone on a month-long sojourn to other parts of the world. The pilot that got the awesome staged reading treatment in December? It still sits, unasked for, in my portfolio file. There haven't been any calls or emails. I don't know if there will be.

I do know that tonight I'll go to a movie screening of a little indie I'd really wanted to see. A friend who didn't give up when I turned him down twice for other movies is taking me as his plus one. Tomorrow I'll sit back down at my desk and I'll turn to the pile on my left. The pile of rewrites and notes and outlines and things to do. There's always something floating in my brain and I'll get to it. I'm excited to finish the novel I started this weekend and spend time with friends this weekend. Monday I'll drive a church friend to the doctor and Tuesday I'll have dinner with an old film school prof.

But what's next in the big scheme of things?

I have no idea.

Pilot season is here in L.A. and that means staffing season isn't far behind. I'll send out letters and emails and beg people to give me a chance (not literally beg but you know, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do). I'll keep writing. I'll network all over the place. I'll continue to add to my packing list for Paris (only 138 days until we leave!!!). I'll just keep keeping on because well, I never know what's next!

Back in L.A. again!

Some people spend winter vacations in Florida or Hawaii. Me? I spend them in Michigan. Where we had ice storms, snow storms, 30-hour power outages, terrible flu outbreaks and temperatures that flirted with -40 degrees. I dug out the old Sorel neon boots and laced them up. I froze my legs off getting made into a snow lady by the neighborhood kids. I went to the ole Urgent Care and got my handy-dandy Zpac mere hours before we hosted a party for 80 people at our house. I kept warm sitting by my parents' new electronic fireplace, drinking wine and eating a pound or two of chocolate and nuts. I read several books that were not for research.

It was the perfect holiday.

I knew Christmas would be different this year. In quick succession this summer and fall my family was left without any grandparents. It's a part of life we all accept and try to understand. And then Christmas Eve came and I sat by the tree and I sobbed. I sobbed because I missed my Grandma. I missed her laugh and that evil twinkle in her eye and the way she always had cake at her house. No matter what. I missed my Grandpa. I missed his Hawaiian Punch and Seven-Up with cheap vanilla ice cream treat. I missed his soft, "Alright, Babe" when he would hug me hello and goodbye. I missed my Grandma and her loud cackle as we played cards and the way she always listened intently to what was happening in my life. I missed my grandparents on Christmas. I missed the ones who'd only been gone a short while and the ones who've been gone years. 

So we had a good cry, all of us. Then we sat down to dinner, just the four of us, and then headed to church. It was a good Christmas, made bright by so many wonderful people and good days and fun moments. It was. It really was.

We spent so much time with the grandneighbors. We had them all of Christmas Eve morning and we baked and we read stories and we played games and did crafts. And it was perfect. They came over Christmas morning and opened presents by the tree and ate a big breakfast and relaxed a little before we all had to go about preparing our Christmas dinners. I cannot begin to explain how much their presence in our lives means. We are so blessed that they are all a part of our family. 

And we relaxed. We played games. Big Bang Theory Clue and Big Bang Theory UNO and cards and puzzles. We read books and passed them between one another. John Grisham and Janet Evanovich and Sue Grafton and Anne Lamott. Books so good we didn't want to put them down and we raced under the tree to grab before the rightful owner could grab them (This might have been me, going for the latest Stephanie Plum book, the day after Christmas. Maybe. It might have been my mom's book. But she's great. And I read it fast).

So yes, we had a white Christmas. Yes, we had a wonderful Christmas. Yes, we had a no power for a day and a half. Yes, I had the flu. Yes, it was lovely and tiring and relaxing and stressful and fun. It was family. It was perfect.