Teacup pigs and possibly misuing the word "stasis"

These were taken like a week ago.
I can't even talk about this weather situation.

Hello, Internet. It's been a while. I should really just strive for quarterly updates here to avoid the constant nagging sensation that my blog is withering on the vine. 

Since I last posted, no birds have entered our home uninvited. The ones we did invite were not available, allegedly. Their excuses were pretty flimsy, if you ask me. Something about wanting to live outside where birds "belong," and not wanting to be eaten by a house cat. Stuff like that.

In other news, I did not win an international writing contest. I did make the top ten, though! They even put my name on the site and everything, and I am inordinately proud; I'm not going to lie. I did a thing! Sort of. I at least caught the eye of someone who had some kind of say in this thing. I'll take it. Since I didn't win or place in the top 3, the essay remains unpublished, which is actually a good thing, because it means I can submit it to places that publish such things. The string of rejections that are sure to follow will bring a good balance to this whole situation. It's all about stasis.

My children continue to grow taller and more smart-alecky. We got a second cat named Merlin; he has quickly become the favorite pet. David has taken to pretending to be a teacup pig named Max for most hours of the day, and Anderson spends much of his free time programming with Scratch and making me feel intellectually inadequate, but in a very sweet way. Kurt has been doing a lot of Kurting, as he is wont to do.

Soon, I will leave this part of the tri-state area and point myself northish, to the land of the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop. At this point, I'm counting down the hours, along with hundreds of others, to that seemingly mundane Thursday in April. It's hard to explain the magic, but I wish I could bottle it for those times when this writing pursuit feels like the dumbest idea anyone in the history of the world has ever dared to admit. While other, more poised attendees might organize their notes after the conference and approach their work with renewed vigor, I plan to soak it up, get home and write like a maniac until the buzz wears off. 

What else? I turned 39 and started a new and somewhat subdued countdown to the dreaded 4-0, or at least that's what you're supposed to say, I guess. I really can't be bothered. It may have finally sunken in that I'm mortal, as are you (and you and you). Apart from the occasional grip of tummy panic that I've possibly wasted a lot of time of my limited time on a lot of really pointless worries, it's all good. I'm happy to wake up and greet the day each day. Someone has to feed the teacup pig.

Let's Party Like it's Geocities 1999

Why? Because this strange child is my heart.

 I'm just a writer.

I'm not doing this to create a brand for myself, not that there's anything wrong with that. I named my blog Cincy Sarah because it's just kind of catchy and is pretty on-the-nose. I'm Sarah and I'm from Cincinnati. No-brainer.

But every now and then, I get weird pressure from people I know in the blogging community, as it were, to monetize my blog or finish up designing my own site (turns out I really and truly detest that kind of thing), or to organize blog posts into an ebook that I would then sell on my blog that already contains all those posts... and I'm just not into it. I kind of envy the very talented people who have managed to create gorgeous, information-packed websites that draw visitors from all over the world. I'm just downright jealous when they amass enough readers to get free shit from companies just for mentioning them "casually" here and there. That's pretty sweet! I love that entrepreneurial spirit.

However.

That's just not me. I thought it might be, but it's just not. I don't have a particular agenda to promote, though I don't mind holding you hostage now and again to rant about something important (THINK BEFORE YOU PINK, PEOPLE). I like to write things that I hope people can relate to. I try to strike a chord now and again. I'm ever aware that I'm just another anonymous voice on the internet and it's totally understandable that you, the average internet person, doesn't necessarily care about me, in particular. I'm comfortable with that and the feeling is probably mutual. We both know what this is.

I'm also not interested in joining one of these massive rings where everybody blindly clicks on everyone else's blogs and leaves meaningless comments so that everybody gets lots of hits in some kind of modern day chain letter, Google-tricking waste of time.  That feels icky to me.

So I'm just going to continue writing whatever the hell I feel like writing here. And someday, I hope I can relate some exciting news about how someone is paying me actual money for writing things I love to write about. But it won't be Google Adsense. When I point you to Amazon and ask you to pretty please buy my book, I hope you'll want to do that because it sounds interesting and you'd like to support me because you're cool like that.

Now, how about you? What are you up to? I'd love to use my small internet voice to help get the word out about cool things you're doing, too. My next post will be pure promotion of some internet up-and-comers I'm excited about. If you're doing something from the heart and you'd like me to help spread the word, I'm happy to do that. No link exchanging required.

Let's just be real together, like it's Geocities 1999.

Home on the Horizon

You're living a good life when the best part of a great trip is the coming home.

"When I come home
Cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones
Beside the fire"

(Roger Waters)

I've been reading through past posts here and approving comments from months ago, and realizing how much I miss writing here, how I never feel quite at "home" if I'm not writing this kind of stuff regularly. There's only so much creative satisfaction one can derive from writing web content for various corporate interests. That's about a .05% creative satisfaction level, I've discovered. Some days it's actually a negative number.

I've been glum for a while now, when I haven't been wracked with grief over the loss of my grandpa in April, or troubled over a spectacularly awful and seemingly irreparable falling out with a cherished friend. My state of mind has been more focused on just trying to find a soft place to land, and emotionally I haven't been up to the inherently vulnerable task of writing.

And in some ways, I'm still not there, but this is what I do, and not doing it has begun to feel worse than doing it and risking the pain of rejection or criticism. I still feel an overwhelming sense of "they're all gonna laugh at you," but I'm choosing to finally take that deep breath and dive back in. I mean, let's be honest, anyway. Of the 12 people who will potentially read this one day, surely only 2 of them will actually point and laugh. Right? Right.

I have lots of stuff I want to get to here soon, but for today, I will leave you with this old picture I came across the other day. It makes me all kinds of bittersweet and gooey. Kind of like Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra but without the brain freeze.

The little one is turning 5 in a few days. This one's going to sting.

Writing vs. Marketing

Good reminder from this etsy artist.

 "Don't expect applause," a post on Seth Godin's blog today, was exactly what I needed to hear this morning:

"But when you expect applause, when you do your work in order (and because of) applause, you have sold yourself short."

I'm still basking in the glow from the Erma conference over the weekend, because it was such a nice, supportive place to be, but now I'm back to regular life and trying to figure out how to apply what I've learned, at least in fits and starts. I am sure I haven't figured out everything I've learned yet.

One thing that I heard about the conference before I went, and which rang true, is that it was a place to go to learn to be a better writer, as opposed to a better marketer. I mean, it's definitely good to learn a bit about the latter if you'd like to make a living as a writer, but if you start to spin off and become inauthentic because you're writing with a goal of getting praise and attention, that's a good way to ruin the soup.

Lots of the presenters and speakers talked about what I think of as the blurry line between the how and why of writing. The "how" is obvious, I think (at least in theory). You can easily find endless tips and tricks about how to best put one word after another until something that seems like writing appears on the page. That's a thing you can hone. But the "why," and how the "how" is related to the "why"? Ho, boy, that's troubled waters.

Because of course we want to entertain, especially those of us doing human interest/humor writing. There's a lesson, or a punchline, and we want to not only convey that - we're also hoping to resonate in a way that entertains. So, how does one decide where to aim that arrow? I tend to keep in mind the people that already seem to find me funny well, at least amusing. I figure if nothing else, hopefully my warped friends will find this thing I'm writing about amusing, and if they do, maybe a few more people will, too. And, if not, well, at least I made my friends laugh, and I had fun with the process. This is especially true of essays, where I work hard to craft those as best I can.

Even when I don't "hear the applause" - even when it feels like I'm delivering jokes into an empty cave, I know I wouldn't ever stop this.

Writing is the thing I do. The thing I am compelled to do. Not everyone is going to agree that I have even a granule of talent, but I like to sing in the shower, too, and Clive Davis is yet to show up. It doesn't mean my children won't continue to be delighted when I belt out Roger Miller songs while soaping up my hair. OK, well, there will come a day when they will probably cower in humiliation because I breathe air near them, but I digress.

Humans are artists by nature (even you, trust me), and we're better people when we can express that art, in whatever form it takes.

So, I have to agree with Seth, and it was a needed reminder. I don't want to write for the applause, though I greatly appreciate it when it comes. That's a pretty freeing guideline.

Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop Wrap Up

It is proving very difficult to describe why the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop was a life-changing experience for me without it sounding all hyperbolic and starry-eyed, but I have to admit that I'm all starry-eyed, anyway.

Sitting among 400 people in the same place who get it, who understand the thrill of writing humor and human interest for the sake of writing it, and not necessarily just to sell it, is validating, energizing, and a little humbling (in a good way). Getting encouragement not just to keep writing but to stay authentic, kind, and earnest in our work, from people who have achieved so many impressive milestones, was more than a little inspiring. I walked away with new purpose toward completing my writing goals, but also with new purpose toward being the person I want to be. I can't imagine asking for more.

OK, more chairs in Kennedy Union Room 222 would be OK.

But otherwise? Nope. I assumed I'd enjoy this workshop and that it would be awesome to discover people who might tick a little bit like me, but I had no idea it would lead to such a soul-searching, life-affirming experience. And that's on top of the slew of practical tips I will studiously... er, study.

Yesterday I wrapped things up with a session on developing a distinct blog presence and voice (which I lack since I'm pretty scattered) with the super sharp and very personable Anna Lefler, and presentations that I found incredibly inspiring by Kyran Pittman (I barely took notes because I was mesmerized by her lyrical Canadian accent), and Karen Walrond, who thinks you (and you, and you) are uncommonly beautiful.

Kyran focused on finding the authority to write. I found her ideas about "writing" vs. being a "capital-W Writer" so eye-opening. It's important to assess what your goals are there.

She also spoke about writer Seth Godin, who has written about the importance of delighting the people who are already paying attention. This would be in contrast to the people who you keep hoping to attract. It's a sure way to keep your voice authentic, and it's not that it's not a fine goal to grow an audience, but sometimes it's easy to get caught up in the stats and numbers, and the further that boat goes out to sea, the harder it becomes to remember why you came to the shore in the first place.

Karen's gorgeous presentation focused on sparking your creativity. She is a mathematician turned lawyer turned photographer/writer, and she is simply wonderful. One idea I loved was "100 paces, 20 shots," which I think is pretty self-explanatory. I'm dusting off my Canon 20D as we speak. Here is what Karen had to say about the workshop.

I will try not to gush on these pages too much, going forward, but I wanted to document a little bit about my experience here. If you've landed here thanks to a google search about the workshop, yes, do sign up. It will sell out, and you should experience it. I wish I could take every one of my writer friends with me next time. It was intimidating at first, but so liberating and empowering by the end.

In the words of Erma: "It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else."

I'm so glad I did.

Live Blogging the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop 2012

Well, not really. I don't really know what that means. But I have arrived, so look out, Dayton? I guess? I doubt I'll cause any really damage, but you never know.

So far I've checked in, got some swag from the Erma people (sweet), made besties with the hotel maid, WHO IS NAMED IRMA (cue "what a coincidence" sountrack), made an unfortunate trip to Walmart after realizing I didn't have toothpaste, because all trips to Walmart are unfortunate, took a bath in the spiky-ass tub (seriously, get some mats, people, ow), avoided the other attendees because I am a socially awkward goofball (but I swear I will make friends at dinner in a few), and stood around on my balcony! I have a balcony, overlooking a beautifully paved parking lot with fresh white lines. I do like to pamper myself, so I indulged in a $4 thing of sunflower seeds from the Overpriced Wall of Snacks downstairs.

Tonight it's dinner, where I'll display my "Sarah Hunt, Vegetarian" nametag, which is totally a lie since I eat meat at least 3 times a week still. The speaker is Alan Zweibel, who sounds extremely interesting. Just in case, I'm going to pack my purse with projectiles. As a paying customer, I feel it is my right to express my displeasure at poor delivery, bad jokes, or an apparent lack of enthusiasm. So, let's hope Alan is on his toes!

I will update this later, unless I am in jail, but maybe they'll have wireless access and I can do it from my phone.

The email that lives in my brain

May you never have occasion to mail this card. But just in case...

I'm a "writer" (please indulge me), so I'm usually sure I'm either about to pen a life-changing bestseller or that I'm a total fraud and everyone talks about it behind my back. "I just can't bring myself to tell her. It's almost embarrassing at this point."

Some days, it's hard to write anything anywhere, especially in an instance where someone is actually paying me, because of the thundering doubt clattering around in my uninspired psyche. On the worst days, I'm relatively sure everyone is getting together to craft an email like this:

Dear "Cincy Sarah" (if that's your real name),

Today, I had the displeasure of coming across your "blog" (if that's what you want to call it). Well, let me just say that I want my money back. This waste of space is part of What Is Wrong with America. YOU are What Is Wrong with America. 

Specifically, I found your description of this thing you did to your children reprehensible. If I could figure out how to spell Cinsinnaty Cinnamonity Cincinaty, I would report you to the proper authorities. Of course, your "city" (if that's what you call that dump) is probably a little too preoccupied with frozen turkeys falling from the sky and murder, so it would likely be a lost cause. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Someone Like You would come from Somewhere Like that. 

Your cheese-coney-horfing children are doomed no matter what I do, anyway.

Still. The least you could do is keep your nonsense inside, tucked away next to those obscene daydreams about Axl Rose and Bon Jovi (newsflash: that is weird and you are old). Instead, here you are, prattling on about nonsense no one cares about, clogging up my Google searches with inane "commentary" about any number of ideas, all of which have already been discussed more thoroughly and more eloquently 1,100 times.

Do us all a favor and just quit already. We hate you. All of us. 

Sincerely,

The Internet

Yeah, it's pretty much like that sometimes. It's only a little heartening to read about successful, beloved writers describe the shadowy doubt that still creeps in on them from time to time. For one thing, this tells me that even at the upper echelon of this career ladder, dread and insecurity still creep in (I suppose that's an inevitability no matter what you do, which is just more depressing). For another, I'd be more likely to find $6 million lying in the street in front of my house than to become a truly successful author, so it just means that if I keep writing, I'll get all the fun of writer's block, self-loathing, and panicked stress but without the fame and fortune. Whee?

I think this whole mess is why I'm most excited about the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop next week. I know other writers who suffer from this disease, the one that compels you write even though it's a gut-wrenching, terrifying process at least 40% of the time, and I find it so energizing and reassuring to be around other writers who get it. Not that I'm not about to puke at the mere thought of meeting a bunch of strangers. But I'm going to do it. I'm going to focus on all my Brene Brown mantras, probably make a spectacle of myself in Dayton, miss my children for 3 days, and hopefully, come back wiser and more diseased than ever.

The writing disease, you perv, although hey, what happens in Dayton, stays in Dayton (because nobody wants to hear about you sitting in construction on 75).

By the way, totally not fishing here. I truly appreciate that you read my babble, and I have an incredibly supportive group of friends and family. Partly I'm sharing because I know I'm not alone and I like putting something out into the universe that might help another writer feel less alone when they wind up shipwrecked on the Island of Temporary Suckage.