The Process Versus the Product.

Hope y'all's 2016 is off to a good start! Been a while.

I've had the joy of working with a couple of my favorites in the under-18 set since the new year started. First, Rachel came to work with me for a couple of days over her holiday break, helping me with everything from our (downright woeful before her assistance) Pinterest account, to photo shoots, to interviewing the owner of a fabulous breakfast joint.

Then yesterday my girl Julia visited me for Charleston County's official job shadowing day and brought her friend Emily. We had a great time putting the last page of the magazine together (a "meet your neighbors" feature) and editing a couple of things around the office.

Hanging with my younger friends always make me feel good because they're amazed by what I do. I suppose it sounds fancy to be a magazine editor (I always preen a bit when I tell people my profession) but it isn't all glory for sure. In fact, if I don't stay organized, on top of my game and open to doing the grunt-work parts of the job, everything falls apart faster than you can say Mount Pleasant Magazine. That's why when I bring my proteges to the office, I try to present a pleasant mixture of hard stuff (coming up with the reasons why a sentence just doesn't sound right) and fun stuff (photo shoots). I mean, yesterday when we were out roaming around to meet people for the last page, one guy we interviewed raved about the magazine. He talked about what a good job I do, and it was nice to hear it. Of course, Julia and her friend were impressed.

"You're FAMOUS," they heartily declared. It's an overstatement, of course, but I still think it's important to recognize that when it comes to being a magazine editor, the process (sometimes tedious, boring, frustrating, etc) is just as important as the product.

Reflections on Nostalgia and Progress: A December Special

I was perusing Facebook this morning in between editing articles, and I saw a "Throwback Thursday" that my old alma mater, Coastal Carolina University, posted: a photo of the oldest building on campus -- the Singleton Building, as it stood in the 1960s. I saw the Singleton building myself just about a month ago during a fairly routine visit to campus, and I was shocked to find the building had been totally gutted. The shiny, completely renovated Singleton building will reopen in 2016. It made me a little sad. Thus, I posted this on the Throwback Thursday photograph:

This is a cool photo. I was sad to see it completely gutted when I visited Coastal a month or so ago. Yes, the Singleton building smelled weird and needed to be updated, but I clearly remember walking through it between 1998-2002 and loving it just as it was. Progress and nostalgia are always at odds, I suppose.

Today is my mom's birthday (Happy birthday, mom!), and if you don't know my mom, she's one of the finest examples of poetic nostalgia I've ever known. Part of it comes from her outstanding memory, and part of it is her sincere fascination with how things became the way they are. I spent my childhood relishing tales of her childhood, from the people to the buildings around Florence. Even if they had long since disappeared, my mom could still point out where they were.

That said, I suppose it's fitting that today I would find myself reflecting on progress and nostalgia. After all, this is the time of year when people get caught in between longing for the past and anticipating the future. I know I'm one of them -- I find myself feeling excited about what might happen in 2016 (New freelancing opportunities! Road trips!) but also missing people I haven't seen in decades -- wanting to trade stories and hold on as much as possible.

I doubt very many people, if any at all, would agree with me that the Singleton Building was fine the way it was. People complained about how dingy it was, how funny it smelled, how dark the hallways were, and everything else. But to me, it was just another part of the campus, and the campus has felt like home since my college days. Luckily, it still does, despite the renovations. I think that's the secret, when it comes to balancing progress and nostalgia: making sure you still feel at home, despite change.

When I go home next week for the holidays, things in Florence will be different, as they usually are, and people will be shifting. They'll be getting married, having children, growing older, selling their old sofas, downsizing their homes, retiring, shopping for new cars and whatever else they do to keep up the progress in their lives and move forward. But I'll still feel at home there thanks to nostalgia, which my mom passed down to me.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, y'all!

Me, my mom and my sister Marie, circa 2008 or so. 

"Be Thankful or Else."

I know it's hard to believe, but every now and then, I complain about my career.

Sometimes I whine that my writing voice is apparently only good for catchy ad copy and not heart-wrenching literature. Sometimes I complain that editors don't reply to my (brilliant) pitches. And sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get my big break, whatever that might be.

But this is a week about being thankful, so let me take a moment to reprimand myself for not being thankful constantly for my ever-interesting, ever-evolving career as a writer. A career that not many people get to have. A career that takes me to cozy bed-and-breakfasts where I get a free night's stay to learn more about a southern town. A career that introduces me to fascinating and talented people and pushes my limits. Sure, it's not 100% perfect and it's not always the exact thing I had in mind, but I make my living off of what I love doing most -- manipulating language.

Lately, the Great Universe is showing me that other opportunities are on the horizon. For example, I have a couple of articles coming out in regional magazines early next year, and an essay that I'm rather proud of is slated to appear on a website I admire. Plus, old and new contacts have been reaching out. My networking skills are being sharpened. And the crap that I don't need to deal with - the stuff that's wasting my time, dragging my spirits down and not helping me excel - is disappearing, whether I like it or not.

On November 1st, I flipped the page of our sales tally at the Mount Pleasant Magazine office - the sheet where we keep track of that month's advertising triumphs. I usually like to draw a little picture that represents the time of year: a tree for April, a pumpkin for October, that sort of thing. This time, I drew a turkey. And this cartoon turkey is saying "Be Thankful or Else!" which I considered funny at the time (it was a jab at to how hard it can be to make ends meet in an artistic field) but now, I'm realizing it's a useful lesson.

The more grateful, secure and happy I feel with my progress as a writer, the more good things I encounter to help me on the journey. So, starting this week, I'm going to just take a deep breath and realize that in the grand literary scheme of things, I'm still quite young. And I have a lot of stories left inside me.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

The original artwork. Hey, I'm a writer, not an illustrator. 

Mountain Jam.

Sunday night I got back from an important solo trip to the mountains of North Carolina, where I spent a long weekend at a writing conference hosted by The Sun, one of my favorite magazines that Anna introduced me to. It was an epic experience.

The workshops I took on poetry and nonfiction opened my eyes to some things I needed to know about myself as a writer. My writing isn't emotional enough! Who knew, right? But hear this: I was sitting in the workshops, feeling all proud and junk of what I'd written (and it was good; don't get me wrong) but I realized that my fellow writers and my instructors were moving each other with their words, even shocking each other, in a way that I wasn't. Their stuff was raw; mine was magazine ready. 

I'm not saying that my job has everything to do with it, either. I think I've put up a wall around myself  and my writing when it comes to emotional intimacy for a long time. I can be real in my tiny purse journal or my regular journal at home, but I knew I was getting ready to read the fruits of our workshop prompts to everyone in those conference rooms. Thus, I'd groomed my stuff for consumption. There was even a point when I realized I'd written in the 3rd person while everyone else wrote in the 1st! The prompt was to talk about a moment in my life that hurt me deeply -- clearly I was protecting myself from it. 

Anyhoo, despite learning that my writing has a long way to go, this trip empowered me. I drove down the dark, scary, winding mountain roads and stayed on the side of a cliff all by myself. I mingled with strangers and navigated through Maggie Valley, Little Switzerland and Black Mountain without friends. Every time I go on one of my little adventures with just me, myself and I, I get a little more used to the fact that I might be alone forever. And it might be all right. 

Little Notebook.

After my post last time about more solitary media, I went out and bought a little notebook. And I'm thoroughly thrilled to report that it has become my go-to for whenever I have an idea now. (Err, except for the stuff that I put here, on the blog!)

In fact, the little notebook is already a fourth of the way filled with snippets of poetry, funny sayings that DIDN'T end up on Twitter, musings over my lunch and happy hour and even an entire rough draft of an essay for a magazine. See the photo below -- I sent the same one to my tutee a few days ago over text message, triumphantly declaring that I "had written a whole essay in mini handwriting in my little notebook" or something like that.

"Cool," he replied, in 15-year-old fashion. 

But it is cool. I've been reaching for the notebook more often than my phone, and that makes me happy. I'd forgotten how much more legit it feels to pull out real paper and a pen, rather than my smart phone like everyone else. 

Yay for being a writer and rediscovering the parts of it that I love!

Social Media Overload, Solitary Media Underload....

First, a list of the different applications and social media whatnots on my phone:

Facebook
Twitter
Tumblr
Instagram
Pinterest
Tinder
Google+

Next, a list of the times I've written something personal, something for myself this week:

Zero. 

This is a problem. I'm spending too much time talking to other people and not enough talking to myself. It would be great if I could compose a diary entry, at least, or edit a poem in complete silence (on a piece of paper with a red pen or something, not on the laptop where someone can IM me).

And to top it off, I've been bitching and moaning about being uninspired and not writing enough.

Sigh.

It's not just me though. (Not that y'all thought it was.) I mean, when I ask a certain teenager whose name shall be unmentioned to write one of the poems for his poetry booklets on a sheet of real paper, I get a reaction like, What? Real paper? Retype it later? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? 

And, as usual, I have trouble arguing my point of view. That there is nothing to distract you from your own ideas with a sheet of paper and a simple writing utensil. And when I (or you) feel less distracted from our own ideas, perhaps we feel less competitive and more peaceful.

I love ideas more than anything in the world, and I love the ideas of others. But I get so freaking bogged down by all the ideas at my fingertips these days, it almost paralyzes me.

If that writer said that beautiful sentence, what will I say? 

Well, the answer is my own beautiful sentence. And who gives a crap if anyone but me reads it? Good gravy, I remember being an adolescent and not even wanting to share my work with anyone. Now, I'm an adult, and it's like if i don't get approval from the masses then i might as well die.

I don't think this attitude is helping me get better.

It's not that I never put down my devices -- i do it every night, right before bed, when i read an actual book or magazine (not on an e reader) before drifting off. But I'm going to have to do better than that.

I'm going to have to start capturing the world in a tiny notebook that I keep in my purse again, just like I did before I became a slave to something outside of myself.

That's all for now.

Shepherding my Word Sheep.

Well, it's been a while. I've been busy working my face off (and celebrating my birthday -- woo!) since I just officially became full time at the magazine. (I know...y'all thought I already worked full time ...).

There are things to get accustomed to now that I'm a regular. A not-so-great example would be getting to the office at the same hour every morning, no matter how my hair looks or what awesome article got tweeted at me about the literary genius that lies within. Sigh. Time management isn't always my favorite thing, especially in the morning when my ideas are flowing like honey.

Nevertheless, there are other awesome aspects. One that I feel compelled to write about is how there's more of an opportunity to gently edit the writing of others and help them compose stuff that readers AND clients are going to like.

Case in point: One of my newbie writers, Miranda, is learning the ropes of marketing content. So this week I've gone over a couple of her articles with her, showing her how to make them not only good for the advertisers but also good for our readers. Naturally, this process is helping me become a better editor as well. I even called Brian on the phone and cheerfully announced that I kinda felt like him this morning when I put Miranda's original copy of a story, along with my edits, side by side on her desk.

Also, I had a super fun opportunity last week when my friend June's 12-year-old daughter, Julia, plus her friend, Ashley, shadowed me at work for the morning. I printed out a story going into the magazine and let the girls help me edit it -- we came up with a snazzy new headline, polished some phrases and generally made it flow. The girls had a blast using their creativity, and I had fun as well.

And though it's not quite as easy --  due to the fact that while I know exactly what Mount Pleasant Magazine's pages are yearning for content-wise, I have less of an idea regarding what teachers at Bishop England want --  I like editing my tutee's stuff too. Yesterday during our lesson, for example, I steered him in a slightly different direction for his research paper's introduction paragraph.

Speaking of paragraphs, it's funny. my tutee always asks for a sentence count regarding how long each paragraph should be, and I always gripe that it should be "as long as it takes to get his idea across," hoping he won't wimp out and make things too short. But when I broke Miranda's story from this morning into a few different paragraphs, they ended up only being a few sentences or so -- still, each contained its own idea. Interesting, how no two pieces of writing follow the same rule. They're all as unique as the people who composed them.

That said, I've always talked about how hard it is to teach someone how to be a better writer. As with other art forms, it's easy to assume good writing is "innate" and give up on helping someone with their craft. But I'm finding that helping other writers is helping me at the same time. What a happy result, right?!

Julia, Ashley and me! 

A Different Kind of Business Profile.

At Mount Pleasant Magazine we do a great many business profiles for East Cooper companies -- and as managing editor, I strive for profiles that are well done and interesting -- even when it's a topic that doesn't strike a chord within me personally.

Other times, something does strike a chord, yet I have to keep the business profile ...business-like. Not so on my blog, however! So, in the spirit of letting y'all know how I really feel about a particular business here in Mount P, I decided to post about Celadon, one of our advertisers in the spring issue.

Once upon a time, my best friend Anna had me over for dinner at her house on a weekly basis. She had this really great shrimp pasta, with cheese sprinkled on top, that she would make on Sunday afternoons, and she served it in these elegant bowls that were higher on one side than the other.

We'd talk about our lives, and I'd look around her apartment, admiring her ever-elegant taste. She had a sofa that I downright coveted. Though she'd generously given me her former sofa, a hand-me-down i accepted gracefully, I couldn't stop myself from lusting after the new sofa in its soft teal hue.

We'd sit in the living room after dinner, and she'd light a couple of fancy candles with matches that she retrieved from a long box embossed with birds unfurling their lavender wings. I know -- at this point you're thinking it all sounds frivolous. And perhaps it was. But it was beautiful to me; the trinkets that Anna shared inside her home seemed to go so well with our conversations about love, our careers, our destinies as poets and our goals for the future.

Celadon happened to be one of Anna's favorite places in Mount Pleasant to find everything, from her furniture to her dish towels. There were a couple of occasions when she'd drag me inside the store to look at something -- until I realized I didn't need to be dragged; I wanted to shop there. But, unlike Anna, I couldn't afford much.

After Anna passed away a few years ago, I found myself venturing into Celadon from time to time. I found myself looking at things that I know Anna would have liked and thinking back to her apartment: about the bookshelves, stacked with volumes of poetry, and the coffee table, spread with papers to grade, half-written drafts and nubby candles that smelled of hyacinth.

It's interesting how mere things cannot possess any meaning unless we assign meaning to them. When we do, they become almost like living things, despite being objects.

One day, I bought myself a long box of those matches. I don't remember what I paid for them. I loved them so dearly, I kept them in the room with me all the time. And whenever I'd light something with their flames, I'd think of Anna.

Anna, reading a poem at a coffee shop. 

On the Art of Transitions.

A few years ago, when I started working on my book, I realized that the hardest part of writing (at least for me) is the art of creating a transition. Thus, I would never abandon the story "between scenes," so to speak. I figured that in order to make things easier on myself, I would reach a stopping point in the middle of some action, so the momentum would still exist when I got back.

This "action versus lull" theory has bled over into my reading habits as well, particularly if I'm enjoying a book so thoroughly that I don't want to stop at a part that might cool my passion for the narrative.

I've tried to explain how hard transitions are to my tutee and probably to any other writer who is willing to listen to me -- including my freelancers, because it's true for magazine articles as well.

But what I didn't realize, until today, is how true it is for real life.

I've always thought of the time between Christmas Day and New Year's Day as a "lame duck period" of the year, when nothing really happens except, well, some people undecorate their homes, I suppose, and get ready to resume real life. You might argue that it's not everyone's favorite place to leave the year -- which is why The Christmas Cliff exists. (You know how everyone insists on seeing you before Christmas, as if the world ends on December 25th after the gifts are opened? That's the Christmas Cliff.)

So, I am proposing a new tradition -- or transition -- for this year, instead of leaping blindly from the action of Christmas Day to the action of New Year's. Let's make the most of those funny days in between. Let's continue celebrating and making merry and enjoying the time off from work (if you have it). I know I said that I'm wary of transitions to the point that I avoid them at times in literature and personal writing, but, if I start facing them in real life, maybe I'll get better at digesting them and creating them for the page.

Writers, after all, often draw on their own experiences. I appreciate y'all being part of mine and helping me bridge to the next chapter.

On Inspiration, and How the Three Day Guest Rule Doesn't Apply.

It never ceases to amaze me how inspiration strikes. Of course there are all the usual places (like sitting on my couch and drinking coffee, which seems to be a standard for artists) but once in a while, inspiration happens in such an awkward way that you can't help but take notice.

I just got back from a stellar trip to Auburn, Alabama, where I attended a writing conference for the first time and totally got back into student-mode faster than you can say "MFA wanna-be." In particular, I loved my short story workshop and my poetry workshop; both the instructors were really cool; I bought their books and got them both signed. It was a great trip, and I'm thankful for all the interesting trips I've taken this year -- Nashville, Florida, Charlotte, Auburn -- but when I got back, my friends kept asking me what I wrote while I was in Auburn. And the truth is, I didn't write much, except for workshop notes on how to craft poems and stories. I was like a sponge there, soaking it all up so I could wring it out later when the time was right.

One incident of this "wringing" came a week later, when I had the annoying and disappointing experience of driving 40 minutes in traffic to see this dude I was quasi-interested in, only to have him announce to me that he was "smitten" with someone else. It was not a big deal (I barely knew him) but really, what a waste of gas -- he could have texted that before I got on 526 during rush hour, right?!?

Anyhoo, so I went and had a drink by myself, feeling sulky. And lo! before I knew it, I had my phone out, typing an entire section of my memoir on the bar top, wishing I'd brought actual pen and paper so people wouldn't think I was texting someone with that furiously engaged look on my face.

Another time in the last week, I was fretting over the fact that I had not written so much as an introduction for a magazine article that was due right away. Then, Saturday morning while I was babysitting my best friend's son, I had this incredible first sentence pop into my head while I was lounging in their front yard, soaking up the autumn rays. Again, I got my phone out and typed a few lines (I've become quite the pro at emailing myself phone memos) and felt thrilled to have the hardest part of the article finished. Because, really, once you write a killer first paragraph, the rest just tumbles out.

For as many years as I've been a writer, none of this should surprise me. I know good and well that inspiration is like a butterfly, true love, boiling water or anything else that arrives when you aren't watching the doorway like an overeager freak. So maybe it's not surprise I'm feeling after all. Maybe it's joy at inspiration's arrival.

She's one guest in my life whose welcome is never worn out. In fact, I think I'd let inspiration rent my walk-in closet or couch-surf for as long as she wants to stay with  me.

Auburn's campus. 

Be Careful What You Wish For --

FRIENDS!

It's been forever since I've blogged. Maybe you guys haven't been thinking about it, but I have -- and I've missed it! But honestly, I've been incredibly busy with work and winding the summer down and a whole slew of other projects. That's why I am setting my alarm for 6:30 a.m. these days.

Anyhoo, I thought I'd share the good news that I am hard at work getting my byline elsewhere in the region. I've been pitching a few new magazines and lo! -- I'm getting assignments. Hooray! I have an assignment to write a piece on fashion illustration for Eide Magazine; an assignment to write a piece on the rise of e-cigarettes in culture for The South Magazine; an assignment to write a piece on adult enrichment classes for Grand Strand Magazine and two articles coming up in Celebrate Hilton Head.
I'm pitching national magazines as well, but the region is a good start.

I'd like to point out that preparation for getting what you want in life is important. That might seem like a weird thing to say, because we're so conditioned by society to think that if we work for a goal, and the goal is met, everything is suddenly peachy. But I've discovered that you have to be ready; getting what you want is hard work!

Yes, I've gotten new assignments, and yes, I'll have new magazines to put into my family's hands this holiday season and show them that my English degrees were NOT in vain, but from now until about Halloween I'm pretty much booked. That's right -- none of these publications gave me any TIME to write anything. They all said: "Great, Denise! Welcome aboard! Can you turn it in by October 15th?!" or whatever. And as y'all know, I also deal with the deadline of my beloved publication, Mount Pleasant Magazine, where I'm the editor, in addition to side projects. So I'm pretty dang busy this month. To top it off, I'm going to a conference in a couple of weeks in Auburn, called "The Inspired South!"

But of course, none of these new editors knew that I was pitching my face off to multiple zines, all the while getting ready for my own magazine's deadline or other ventures. It's kinda like when you're in college and your professor doesn't give a hoot about what your other professors are assigning you -- only THAT paper matters.

In conclusion, I couldn't be more excited about the new opportunities. This is a real exercise in time management, and I'm up for the challenge. And when I say up, I mean it literally. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go chug my coffee and email a few people.

Happy Fall, my lads and lassies!!

In Praise of YA Lit.

Not so long ago, my best friend Sarah McGuire used to hesitate whenever she'd confess her affection for young adult fiction. She knew that I didn't really read it (I've been known to be a book snob in the worst way) and I guess she thought I'd think it was silly.

Well, I don't think it's silly anymore. In fact, young adult (YA) literature is quickly finding a place in my bookish heart, for several reasons.

First of all, I do have a 15 year old writing student, as y'all probably know if you've talked to me lately. And while I try to introduce him to adult classics all the time (Frankenstein, Animal Farm, Things Fall Apart), sometimes we're forced to read the YA novels on his school book lists. Right now, I'm waiting for my copy of The House of the Scorpion to arrive at the Mount Pleasant library branch. It's not my typical pick -- it's got science fiction and cloning and all that jazz as part of the plot -- but I'm keeping an open mind.

I've also been mentoring my tutee's sister, who's just one year younger and happens to be an avid reader. She let me borrow her copy of John Green's novel, An Abundance of Katherines, and I rather liked it. I mean, I laughed out loud at it a few times. More importantly, I realized why all the kids are crazy about John Green: he's clever and funny! Anyways, she and I have been working on a series of short fiction this summer (my latest project is about a pair of maids who work in a ritzy hotel) and the practice is definitely pleasing my muse. Who knew I could be so inspired by a teenager? Or teenage books?

And right now, bookmarked on my bedroom floor, I have a copy of a book called Fangirl by an author named Rainbow Rowell, whom Sarah recommended. I went to the library yesterday in downtown Charleston, and, for the first time ever, I made a beeline for the YA room. I wanted to find out if they had a copy of The House of the Scorpion (they didn't, so I have to wait in line) and I wanted to grab a copy of Rowell's book, Eleanor and Park, which Sarah said I would like. Plus, Sarah invited me to a Sunday book club meeting where all the members will be discussing Rowell's work.

"Eleanor and Park is all checked out," said the friendly YA librarian. "Can I offer you Fangirl, the author's earlier work?"

I happily accepted. Perhaps I can add to the conversation on Sunday.

Anyhoo, after collecting my prize, I headed to an art showing of local photography and joined the artist and a few friends for a beer afterward. But -- oops! -- I forgot about my car, which I left in the library garage, which is locked at 8 pm! And it was 7:55 when I remembered. So I ran like HECK (barefoot because I was wearing heels) and got to the library at 8:02 pm. The cops were already standing at the door, telling me that the library was closed. I was out of breath and frantic.

"Can I get my car?" i gasped.

The lady cop took me upstairs with my dirty, bare feet and asked the library employees whether any of them would be kind enough to check my ticket out. Then, a friendly face in the crowd stepped forward. It was the YA librarian from earlier.

"Oh, I remember her. I can let her out with my employee card," she said, much to my immense gratitude.

So, in the end, I parked for free, got a new YA book to devour between now and Sunday and learned an important lesson.

All books are vehicles for good in this world.

My girl Rachel and me. 

Things I've Noticed Since Moving Back to Mount Pleasant.

Well, here I am, writing this post from East Cooper. I've lived in Mount Pleasant before, but this time around I've taken note of a few new tidbits of information. I thought I'd share them with you.

1. I change my clothing multiple times per day now. I might leave for work in one outfit, then go home and don a completely different one by the afternoon. I can't decide if this is good or bad. I mean, is it better that I can put on a slouchy skirt before cocktail hour, or should I suffer in high heels from 9 am until I walk through my front door for dinner?

2. Mount Pleasant has poor people. Yes, East Cooper has the reputation of being a land of wealthier folks -- and, yes, there are plenty of wealthy folks here. But let's face it: there are wealthy and poor people in every area of the Lowcountry.  I'm living proof that someone can make a paltry income and enjoy life in these parts. Ha.

3. I visit different grocery stores now. Back on James Island, I always went to the same grocery store: Publix. It was right by my house (I could even walk there) and going anywhere else seemed downright silly. Nowadays, I've tried everything from the Wal-Mart to Harris Teeter to Whole Foods. Today, though, I did go to Publix. And I felt at home.

4. Work-related stuff is everywhere. During my aforementioned trip to Publix, I ran into the cover star of the May/June issue of Mount Pleasant Magazine, Crystal Brodie, plus her kids. We smiled and chatted and talked shop for a few minutes. I guess this means I shouldn't go to the store without wearing lipstick and/or a bra anymore. Sheesh.

5. I'm regularly late to go tutor. Before I moved, I allotted myself plenty of time to make the trek to Daniel Island. Now, I simply tell myself that it only takes a few minutes to get there -- and the next thing I know, there's traffic on 526 and I'm there at 5:07.

I'm sure I'll think of more things as I go along, but this seemed like a good list to start with. I miss James Island, but it's cool being back in Mount Pleasant, the scene of my earliest days in the Charleston area, living with Heidi and going to graduate school. I almost feel like I'm 24 again.

Almost.

Hoop-Skirt-Jumping.

So, I bought this skirt yesterday. It's a pencil skirt, which i don't normally wear. (i don't really have to follow a dress code at the office so i don't have too many dressy outfits, but I figured that you never know when you're going to need a sleek pencil skirt.)

Unfortunately, when I bought my size yesterday, I didn't try it on. Before y'all slap me on the wrist, let me explain that I tried on the size right below mine, found it to be just a hint too snug, and realized the next size up would be perfect. When i got my beloved skirt home and tried it on in front of the full-length mirror with my beige heels and a blouse, I felt totally beautiful. Then, I tried to unzip.

Nothing happened. The zipper was stuck.

Try as I might, the thing wouldn't budge, no matter how much I moved, sucked in my stomach, or fussed toward the heavens. I was home alone, and for a few panicky moments, I imagined wearing the skirt for the rest of my life. Then, I managed to wriggle it off my hips. Whew. At least I didn't have to call the fire department, right?

Upon examining my skirt, I immediately realized the problem: the zipper's teeth are somehow warped. So, I set my skirt to the side and went about my evening with the plan to visit my seamstress on James Island promptly in the morning. i had a feeling she'd fix it at very little charge. She's known for me ages - and has altered all the bridesmaids dresses I've ever worn.

But this morning, I was greeted with a rather unpleasant surprise: my seamstress is no longer in business! Her shop is gone and her number is even disconnected. I headed to Mount Pleasant with my lip poked out, wondering if my favorite consignment shop owners, or my friend Kim, would have a solution.

But this is ridiculous, i said to myself. Why don't I just get another skirt in my size at the North Charleston location? Why put more money into it and have it repaired?

So, after Brian couldn't fix the zipper during our morning coffee meeting, i gassed up the Saturn and drove to North Chuck, meeting Sarah and her sons for a harried lunch at Chick-Fil-A first. I arrived at the mall full of adrenaline and chicken, ready to remedy the problem - or so I thought, until they didn't have my size.

At customer service, after I sadly recounted my tale to the woman behind the register, she kindly offered to order me another skirt in my size and have it shipped to the store. It sounded like a splendid idea - except I don't live in North Charleston, so I wasn't sure I wanted to have it shipped there. I told her as much, and she agreed that I probably needed to go back to the West Ashley mall with my broken skirt. She put it in a bag for me and sent me on my way. I could not believe my luck.

"I finally buy a professional item of clothing - and spend decent money on it - and it breaks the second I put it on!" I lamented to Sarah and Marie on the phone. "This is a sign from the universe. I'm never moving forward in my career. I might as well dress like a disheveled hippie at a Phish concert for the rest of my life!!"

Marie and Sarah both thought I was overreacting a tad.

"Maybe I can fix it," Sarah suggested. "I'm pretty sure it's easy to replace a zipper. And they cost about eight dollars."

But at this point, I question whether it's all even worth it. Like I said to Brian on the phone, if this skirt doesn't want me, why should I want it? It's like a relationship that just isn't working out - except it's with an inanimate object!!

I suppose I'll give it one last shot at the Citadel mall and try to order my size. Or should I just take the refund and consider it a failed mission?

What would [insert name of someone other than Jesus here, since I'm pretty sure he wasn't a slave to fashion] do?

The Lit Geek's Tour of Nashville.

I decided to check out Nashville for a post-magazine-deadline long weekend. I'd never been there and it seemed like a cool place to visit, possibly consider for relocation one day. It's one of the only cities I've never heard anyone say anything negative about. Plus, I found a mega-cheap guest house on Airbnb.com. The only minor challenge was that I knew nothing about the place and I was traveling alone.

Fortunately, I used my resources and had a killer - not to mention writerly - vacation. I scheduled appointments with a couple of local publications and met their editors, inquiring about whether Nashville might be a cool place to live if you're a wordsmith. (They said yes.) I visited the FABULOUS public library and snapped pictures in the courtyard and the Grand Reading Room, which was like my version of church. I camped out in two bookstores: a used bookstore called BookManBookWoman and Parnassus, the charming book emporium started by writer Ann Patchett.
All the locations were brimming with readers and writers who were eager to talk to me. It was paradise. Oh, and I enjoyed a latte at a well-known coffee shop called Crema, ate everything from farm-to-table veggies to caramel gelato and got into a St. Vincent show for free after befriending the bouncer. I also gathered local publications from grocery racks, restaurant tables and a guy on the sidewalk selling newspapers. (I tipped him extra.)

I have to give credit where it is due. I discovered most of my itinerary through the two literary city guides that I printed from the Internet before my trip - one from a blog called Eat This Poem and another from Poets & Writers Magazine. I kept both of them stashed in my purse, referred to them often and pretty much kept my GPS plugged in 24/7 while on the prowl for inspiration.

In the end, my trip was a huge success. I think I'm ready for my next literary city tour. Suggestions?

(Don't) Take Cover.

I plopped down into a bar seat at Page's Okra Grill for an early, solo lunch, and the owner, Courtney, (whom I met when Brian and I interviewed her for a story) came to me and said her hellos - then asked why I had a long face.

"I don't know," I sighed. "Being a magazine editor is hard sometimes."

Before all of you start chuckling at that comment - or, worse, rolling your eyes - let me explain.

Not long ago, I put our March/April cover together rather shakily. I had a notion (vision?) that I wanted a garden cover. The only problem was that it's been a rather harsh Southern winter this year, and I had plenty to mull over in terms of making it work.

"What about vegetation?" asked my coworkers. "Won't it just be dirt at this time of year?"

But I insisted that it would look the way early spring/late winter is supposed to look in a garden - full of watering cans, shovels, seeds and cheerful gardeners.

I ran into a few obstacles, naturally. I had to find the people who would agree to be on our cover. I had to obtain our gardening props. I had to frame the shot right - or help my photographer, Kate, frame it right.

After putting together a mock cover with our art director yesterday, I paraded the results around the office to a few people and received a bevy of replies - some feedback a little hard to take. I started feeling insecure. I even started lamenting the subjective nature of my profession - how it's always open to discussion. How any kind of creativity is open to discussion, both negative and positive.

That evening, I cuddled up in bed after my tough day with a fresh issue of Elle, one of my all-time favorite magazines, as y'all know. I flipped to the editor's note and, to my amazement, Roberta Myers was defending a cover from the issue before! She talked about how Elle strives to publish "images to surprise, to convey a side of someone you may not have seen...." Lo and behold, she sounded a little insecure herself. But she courageously stood by her cover.

I know I've written about this topic before, in some form or fashion, but knowing that other magazine editors out there go through exactly what I go through is heartening. It's also a little scary and strange, knowing that no matter what publication I end up working with in my life, I'll encounter the same questions. The difference is, I'll eventually learn to be better at dealing.

Anyway, back to the lunch scene at Page's.

"I think you do a great job," said Courtney, as I placed my order with her for fried shrimp.
"I always pick up your magazine."

"Thank you," I replied with a smile. "That means a lot to me."

And it does. And it will. The great thing about doing creative work is the chance to live each day like it's an adventure. And part of that adventure is being open to discussion, both negative and positive.

Not About Baseball But About the Pitch.

I once picked up this book at a thrift shop on freelance writing. You want to know something even funnier? The book is from the 1970s - and I bought it just a few years ago, in the thick of our ongoing social media and Internet frenzy. Still, this book has helped me as a freelance writer more than many other sources I've consulted. For one thing, it introduced me to the magazine pitch, a skill any successful freelance writer needs tucked under her belt.

Writers don't discuss pitches too often. Not sure if it's because we think we'll steal one another's ideas or simply laugh at the ideas for being no good. (Or both.) Recently, I've been (secretly) pitching a few magazines that are, for the moment anyway, a little out of my league. But it's because I've been coming up with ideas.

Here's the thing about pitching. Once you come up with a good idea and get an editor to listen, your foot is in the door. Ever notice how magazines publish plenty of repetitive stuff - from how to meet a man to five new ways to wear a white shirt to earth-friendly products to clean your household? But you can't address an editor and pitch the same old boring ideas about meeting men; you won't get his or her attention that way. You have to pitch something new and different. And if you come up with something fresh, the editor will take you seriously and know that you're capable of thinking new thoughts.

It seems weird that my 1970s pitch book helped me think new thoughts, but apparently I just needed a little guidance. You never know where ideas will come from.

Ironically, I just received a pitch from one of Mount Pleasant Magazine's contributors this evening - just now, as I'm writing this blog! I loved his suggestion and told him as much. At the end of the email I wrote, "Great pitch," followed by a smiley face.

It's gotta be good karma, right? Receive pitch and ye shall be received? Or something?

The Shameless Rerouting of Traffic.

Y'all!

My friend Joy has been hard at work on my professional site, wordsbydenisek.com. Please take a look and let me know what you think.

I'm really stoked at how well it's coming along. It even has a page to redirect folks to this blog, which is crucial.

2014 is coming along nicely so far. More to report later.

Dear Reader.

I can't say for certain the first time I heard the phrase "dear reader" (or "gentle reader," or the like) but I have a hunch it was in my Victorian novel class, when we read Jane Eyre. To this day, it's one of my favorite novels.

Jane was constantly referring to her reader with affection. And I liked it. I liked how she made me feel relevant to her life - heck, I suppose I've always liked metafiction for that reason.

But lately I've noticed the appearance of "dear reader" in other places. For example, an article featured on one of my favorite websites, TheRumpus.net. Also - and this might be a little more surprising - in the January issue of Glamour that I picked up from the newsstand the other day. Furthermore, I have to admit that even I, as a magazine editor, use the phrase when I'm addressing my readers, either in my editor's note or even on social media posts.

What is it that makes me - or any writer - want to refer to my own readers with the same affection so brilliantly displayed by Jane Eyre? After all, I'm not beckoning to my readers from within the pages of a classic novel, or even a website brimming with "highbrow" literary stuff like the Rumpus. I'm just a small potatoes editor of a community magazine.

But perhaps it's the dialogue between the reader and the author that makes something worthwhile. If an author knows that she is being read, she's bound to love her reader.

Dear readers, what do you think?

Up, Up and Away.

This past Monday was pretty darn exciting, as Mondays go. I joined my trusty photographer, Ronnie Martinelli, on the journey to the Mount Pleasant Regional Airport - it's a small airport for private aircrafts only, out on 17 North. Mount Pleasant Magazine is doing a January/February feature about it and we needed artwork to go with.

I expected that we would snap some photos of airplanes and be done with it. I surely was not expecting the chance to actually fly. But fly we did! Of course, I've flown plenty of times on regular airlines, going on various vacations. But this was my first time in a "car with wings," as I called it.

Ronnie had the front seat, along with our awesome pilot and instructor, Scot, so I crawled happily into the backseat and put on the obligatory headphones. It was all just as exciting - the takeoff, the ascent into the air - and even better, no awkward stranger sat next to me and no babies cried under the hum of the motor.

The morning was cloudy, so we flew a little lower than usual, recognizing the buildings, streams and beaches of the East Cooper area. I snapped a few photos with my Android phone, but I'm ready to see what Ronnie captured with his actual camera.

Scot let Ronnie do some of the flying as well. Ronnie was slightly nervous, having never flown a plane before, but he didn't kill us - obviously, unless ghosts keep blogs.

We landed safely and I bragged a little bit to Brian, who elected not to join the photo shoot that morning.

"You didn't tell me you'd be flying," he said.

That's the thing about being one of the editors at Mount Pleasant Magazine. I never know where the days, or the photo shoots, are going to take me.

Sometimes it might be right off the ground!