I'll have to make this quick, as "American Idol" will be on soon, and my kids will pile themselves onto my bed, as this is a family thing. LOL What can I say? We enjoy it together. Awwwwww.
Anyway, yesteday, we had snow. Living in New England, you might wonder why I say that as if it's unusual. The fact is, we've gotten almost no snow to speak of here in Southeastern Massachusetts this year. Or last year. I haven't had to pick up a shovel in two winters. Weird.
As I was leaving for work, my husband called to suggest I bring the camera, because I am always complaining that I miss this or that great picture because I don't have the camera. We don't own a digital camera (yet), and the one we have is a beautiful Canon Rebel 35 mm that we paid a small fortune for 10 years or so ago. Anyway, I don't like to bring it in the car because it's heavy and I always have to bring it with me when I get out of the car.
But I brought the camera anyway. On my way home from work, I drove by the beach where I usually like to take pictures. It was a cloudy, windy, cold afternoon, and I didn't feel like taking a picture from the same old angle I usually do. The water was a surprising shade of teal under the gray sky, and I decided to see if I could sneak onto one of the properties up higher on the cliff to get a shot downward toward the beach.
I parked my van in front of an empty lot next to a big, expensive house that looked empty for the moment. The snow from the morning was slush now, and I was cursing the fact that I had worn sneakers that morning instead of boots. I slipped a few times as I walked across the lot, the camera in my hand swinging wildly.
I got about halfway across the lot, when it struck me that there was no fence or wall at the edge of the cliff. I took another couple of steps and suddenly felt my internal red flag go up. I was about 50 feet from the edge, thinking that a photo would be no good, as all I could see were the sky and water. And then I saw it.
Soaring about 10 or 12 feet above the edge was a bird. I didn't have my glasses on, so I couldn't tell what kind of bird. But it was big and brown, so I thought it was either a big hawk or even an eagle. It didn't see me approach; I was coming from behind. It seemed to hover in place forever. It was floating on the wind coming up over the cliff, soaring in place. It was incredible to see.
I tried to take a photo from where I was standing, but I couldn't get the long lense to focus on it. I moved a foot or two closer and tried again. Still, I couldn't get more than a dark blur through the lens. I looked at the bird, and then looked toward the ledge. Another few feet; it still had no idea I was there. I was getting close to the edge. My red flag was waving like crazy.
And then I froze. I thought, I have no idea where this snow ends and the edge of the cliff is exactly. I could step into a hole in the ground, or trip, or slip on the snow and go right over the edge in the blink of an eye. No one would even know. I actually could see myself falling, hardly making a sound, hitting the rocks below, the camera following me down. No one would have seen me from the road, I was too far in. And that got me moving....in the opposite direction.
That one mental image scared the shit out of me. I berated myself all the way home for being so stupid and careless.
Thank God for red flags.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Positive Reinforcement
In my last entry, I talked about how I need a lot of positive reinforcement when it comes to writing. "Good job," or "nice work," goes a long, long way with me. It's like patting a dog's head or giving it a treat. Yes, in this situation, I am the dog. LOL But I think many writers are like that. I took a class a few weeks ago at the New England Press Association convention that comes to Boston every year, and the instructor's first sentence was, "All writers are insecure."
No shit.
Last night, my mother called me to tell me she received the copy of this week's column that I sent her and my father. They don't have a computer, and never will, so I cut out a copy of my column and stick it in the mail every other week. I'm happy to do it, really.
So last night, for the second time, she said she was so surprised at how well I write and that I had an undiscovered talent. As she said those words, again, I felt my hand tighten around the phone and my jaw clench tight. She went on to wonder, out loud, why she never knew I could write. Then she said, "Didn't you write some poem in high school?"
Some poem? Some poem.
"Mom," I said, "I wrote the graduating class poem. The one that was published in the yearbook. Don't you remember?"
"Oh," she said, sounding confused...or uninterested. Probably both. "But I still didn't know you could write."
"Don't you remember way back when I was in first grade, I wrote that story about the school blowing up?" I asked her.
"What?" she asked. "What school? Blowing up?" Christ, I thought, where the hell had she been my whole childhood?
"MY school, mom. Remember? The teachers and the principal made a big deal over how imaginitive it was? I actually probably scared them without realizing it."
"Oh, right. I think I remember that," she said, as if I were speaking another language.
"Mom, don't you remember also when I was in high school, I won that big spring writing festival contest?"
"You did?" she asked. "I don't remember that at all."
No shit.
"Well," I said. "Anyway, mom, I've been writing most of my life (whichyoushouldalreadyfookinknowbutdont). I like writing. Hopefully, people will keep on reading it."
"Good for you," she said. "You're very good at it."
No shit.
Last night, my mother called me to tell me she received the copy of this week's column that I sent her and my father. They don't have a computer, and never will, so I cut out a copy of my column and stick it in the mail every other week. I'm happy to do it, really.
So last night, for the second time, she said she was so surprised at how well I write and that I had an undiscovered talent. As she said those words, again, I felt my hand tighten around the phone and my jaw clench tight. She went on to wonder, out loud, why she never knew I could write. Then she said, "Didn't you write some poem in high school?"
Some poem? Some poem.
"Mom," I said, "I wrote the graduating class poem. The one that was published in the yearbook. Don't you remember?"
"Oh," she said, sounding confused...or uninterested. Probably both. "But I still didn't know you could write."
"Don't you remember way back when I was in first grade, I wrote that story about the school blowing up?" I asked her.
"What?" she asked. "What school? Blowing up?" Christ, I thought, where the hell had she been my whole childhood?
"MY school, mom. Remember? The teachers and the principal made a big deal over how imaginitive it was? I actually probably scared them without realizing it."
"Oh, right. I think I remember that," she said, as if I were speaking another language.
"Mom, don't you remember also when I was in high school, I won that big spring writing festival contest?"
"You did?" she asked. "I don't remember that at all."
No shit.
"Well," I said. "Anyway, mom, I've been writing most of my life (whichyoushouldalreadyfookinknowbutdont). I like writing. Hopefully, people will keep on reading it."
"Good for you," she said. "You're very good at it."
Friday, February 23, 2007
One Small Step
So, as some of you know, I have my own column now at work, called "Soccer Mom Chronicles." It's not exactly a humor column or an opinion column. I'm not exactly sure what category it would fall under, to be quite honest. It's found between Schools and Villages in the paper, but under Home & Family on the website (www.plymouth.wickedlocal.com).
When discussing what it would be with the editor, my vision of it was writing about Plymouth, or kids, or events, etc., from MY point of view. I wanted to use the first person. After years of having to use third person in my stories, I wanted to be able to talk about me, me, me. I wanted to be able to say "I." That's really not asking a lot, is it? LOL
When my first column came out, the first thing I noticed was a glaring typo in the very first sentence. Someone had edited out a word I had in there, and then forgot to change the word next to it so it would make sense. I was pissed. I couldn't get past that. I like to edit my own work, (and I know this sounds arrogant) because I know I'll do it right. I've been editing for almost 5 years. Yes, I'm a bit lazy on the Internet and even on this blog, but for something going in the newspaper or on our official website, I edit the hell out of everything.
And then I started to get e-mails. Six in all, inlcuding the one from the editor-in-chief. People liked my column. I was fookin thrilled. I printed out each one, and slipped a paperclip onto them and placed them neatly in a folder. Yes, I'm anal like that. LOL
The second column was funny, and I thought it was even better than the first one. But I didn't hear a peep on that one. Nothing. I should mention here that I thrive on positive reinforcement. I think it's because I got very little of it as a child, that I NEED it as an adult. "Good job, Ann," is like music to my ears. Sad but true. So, with no e-mails or comments on the second column, I naturally thought it must have sucked, and now all future columns would suck, and ultimately, the column would be yanked because everyone hated it.
This week was the third column. I stayed away from what I thought was funny, and instead, wrote about some beautiful places that I visited here in Plymouth. I was very descriptive, and included sights, sounds, feelings, everything. And people liked it.
Now, you might not understand this, if you're not in the newspaper business, but I have always felt that a real step of recognition in this industry is if someone calls Speak out about you. Speak out is an anonymous forum that people call to bitch and moan and complain, normally, and it all gets printed in the paper. Sometimes, they have something nice to say, but it's rare, trust me.
Yet, this week, the editorial assistant came to my desk with a printed-out copy of a Speak out call someone had made about ME! They loved my column! They grew up in this town and knew the places I talked about and they were so happy to hear something positive for once about this town, instead of constant complaints! Keep it up, they said!
They liked me! They really liked me! LOL
Yes, I know. It doesn't take much to please some people. But I am pleased. One more small step on the way.
When discussing what it would be with the editor, my vision of it was writing about Plymouth, or kids, or events, etc., from MY point of view. I wanted to use the first person. After years of having to use third person in my stories, I wanted to be able to talk about me, me, me. I wanted to be able to say "I." That's really not asking a lot, is it? LOL
When my first column came out, the first thing I noticed was a glaring typo in the very first sentence. Someone had edited out a word I had in there, and then forgot to change the word next to it so it would make sense. I was pissed. I couldn't get past that. I like to edit my own work, (and I know this sounds arrogant) because I know I'll do it right. I've been editing for almost 5 years. Yes, I'm a bit lazy on the Internet and even on this blog, but for something going in the newspaper or on our official website, I edit the hell out of everything.
And then I started to get e-mails. Six in all, inlcuding the one from the editor-in-chief. People liked my column. I was fookin thrilled. I printed out each one, and slipped a paperclip onto them and placed them neatly in a folder. Yes, I'm anal like that. LOL
The second column was funny, and I thought it was even better than the first one. But I didn't hear a peep on that one. Nothing. I should mention here that I thrive on positive reinforcement. I think it's because I got very little of it as a child, that I NEED it as an adult. "Good job, Ann," is like music to my ears. Sad but true. So, with no e-mails or comments on the second column, I naturally thought it must have sucked, and now all future columns would suck, and ultimately, the column would be yanked because everyone hated it.
This week was the third column. I stayed away from what I thought was funny, and instead, wrote about some beautiful places that I visited here in Plymouth. I was very descriptive, and included sights, sounds, feelings, everything. And people liked it.
Now, you might not understand this, if you're not in the newspaper business, but I have always felt that a real step of recognition in this industry is if someone calls Speak out about you. Speak out is an anonymous forum that people call to bitch and moan and complain, normally, and it all gets printed in the paper. Sometimes, they have something nice to say, but it's rare, trust me.
Yet, this week, the editorial assistant came to my desk with a printed-out copy of a Speak out call someone had made about ME! They loved my column! They grew up in this town and knew the places I talked about and they were so happy to hear something positive for once about this town, instead of constant complaints! Keep it up, they said!
They liked me! They really liked me! LOL
Yes, I know. It doesn't take much to please some people. But I am pleased. One more small step on the way.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
A New Day, A New Blog
Well, hello again! Did you miss me? LOL
My old blog is lost somewhere in cyberspace, so here is its sister to replace it. It's a wonder I'm able to navigate a computer at all. But we can only go forward in life, so I might as well suck it up and try to keep up with technology as much as I can. I'll keep this short and sweet for tonight, until I'm sure things are in order here, and then pass on my link to those lovely souls who had enjoyed my last blog.
For those of you who don't know me, a simple introduction is in order. My name is Ann. I'm 37 years old and I'm a writer. I've been a writer since I was 6 years old, and only in the last five years have I begun to pursue my dreams as if my butt were on fire. LOL That's not an exaggeration. I feel lately as if I must hurry, that's I've wasted too much time dreaming about what I want and not enough time at all trying to get it.
And on that note....away we go!
My old blog is lost somewhere in cyberspace, so here is its sister to replace it. It's a wonder I'm able to navigate a computer at all. But we can only go forward in life, so I might as well suck it up and try to keep up with technology as much as I can. I'll keep this short and sweet for tonight, until I'm sure things are in order here, and then pass on my link to those lovely souls who had enjoyed my last blog.
For those of you who don't know me, a simple introduction is in order. My name is Ann. I'm 37 years old and I'm a writer. I've been a writer since I was 6 years old, and only in the last five years have I begun to pursue my dreams as if my butt were on fire. LOL That's not an exaggeration. I feel lately as if I must hurry, that's I've wasted too much time dreaming about what I want and not enough time at all trying to get it.
And on that note....away we go!
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