"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. 

For Those Who Believe in Magic....

I have the unfortunate habit of losing my sunglasses in the Atlantic Ocean. I've done it a few more times than I'd like to admit over the last several years. And they're never the old, lopsided sunglasses that I leave in my car console in case of an emergency. Nope, the lost glasses are always my most favorite pair, swiped from the top of my head by an irreverent wave and carried out to the distant sea faster than I can wipe the salt from my bleary eyes.

That said, when I lost my last favorite pair a couple of months ago, around mid-June when I was in Litchfield, i never thought I'd see them again. Not that I didn't hopefully check out the shoreline after I noticed they were gone. But in all my years of being a sun worshipper, I'd never had sunglasses swallowed by the ocean do anything except disappear for eternity.

Til now, that is.

The Sunday before Labor Day, I went to lunch with my Daniel Island gang after church and they told me they had a "gift" back at the house for me.

"A gift?" I was thoroughly bemused. "What is it?"

"Remember those glasses you lost in Litchfield? Well....We found them when we went crabbing yesterday."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Yep. We cleaned them off and they look amazing."

I know what y'all are thinking, blog readers. Because I've already heard it from the other people I've shared this amazing story with:

They bought you another pair at the store. They're pulling your leg. 

Another woman with your same glasses lost hers on Daniel Island. 

That's not likely, for a pair of glasses to float from Litchfield Beach to Daniel Island and TO END UP BY YOUR TUTEE'S HOUSE. 

Yes, I've heard it all. And you know what? I've decided I don't care! I got my magic glasses (as I'm now calling them) back last night when I took Rachel home from shopping, and they look the exact same. Maybe just a little bit beat up. A little bit of sand and salt in the crevices. It gives 'em character.

And given the fact that they made their way back to me, I think I'll be a little more careful with them this time.

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!

Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Accelerates My Heart.

So, it's Lent again. And as usual, I've given up something that seems like no big whoop until I have to actually deal with not having it. This year, it's "coffee drinks." Everyone cocks their brow in confusion at that term, so let me explain. No, I have not given up all coffee -- I need caffeine to survive.

But until Easter Sunday, all I'm allowed to have is black coffee. No Starbucks vanilla latte, no honey latte from the yummy local cafe -- not even MILK IN THE MORNING.

All black coffee, all the time.

I've learned a couple things while drinking nothing but bitter, dark cups of Joe. Here goes:

1. All black coffee tastes the same. Thus, i don't care to go for my used-to-be-usual afternoon cup from either Starbucks or whatever's convenient at the time. I had a feeling that my black-coffee-only rule would cause me to cut back on caffeine. But I didn't know how right I'd be. Coffee isn't fun if it's plain.

Coworker: Want to make a Starbucks run, Denise?!
Me: Ehhh...and order a scalding cup of bitter sludge? Nah. I'll stick with water. But thanks. 

2. I keep burning my dang tongue. Without that splash of milk, Irish liqueur or half n' half, the stuff is hotter than you'd expect. In fact, I don't think I've had all my taste buds in good working order since Ash Wednesday.

3. Not many people drink black coffee. In fact, I can name only two right off the top of my head -- Brian and my friend Sarah. Other than that, everyone looks at me like I've lost my mind when I say I'm only drinking it black til Easter. Which brings me to my next point ....

4. I used to think that I liked the taste of actual coffee more than most of my friends and colleagues. When I lived with Genessa, she would put so much creamer and crap inside her cup of morning brew that it ended up just tasting like coffee Kool Aid. And I'd make fun of her. I also made fun of people who always get the mocha milkshake crap with whipped cream on top. But now that I'm drinking coffee in the buff, I'm realizing I don't love it either!! I mean, i can STOMACH it for the purpose of having my morning jolt, but I'm not really happy about it.

All of that said, my mama drinks her morning coffee just like I do: milk only, no sugar. Sharing a cup with her is one of my favorite parts of going home, which makes looking forward to spring that much sweeter. So, until then, I guess I can stick to the dark stuff.

I just need to remember to let it cool on the counter first.

Saturday's cup in the elephant mug. So bare bones. 

This Post Could Get Steamy.

While everyone else has been complaining about freezing their butts off this week, I've been doing what I always do when the mercury dips this low -- manipulating my crazy 'fro. (Y'all like that rhyme or what?)

Anyhoo, so, I've been downright obsessed with my set of hot rollers this winter. Like, super-obsessed, to the point where I want to wear my locks in big, poufy curls every day and channel my inner 1940s goddess or whatever. But to be on the safe side, I've also got a flat iron and a curling iron in my cabinet o' tricks, ready to bust out whenever I need them.

This week, I'm amused to report that I've not only used most every tool I own, I've also come up with innovative new tools ...or should they be called techniques? ....to make my hair do what I want it to do.

Take yesterday morning, for example, I started with a messy mob of clean hair (I'd washed it and slept on it wet the night before) and turned on the hot rollers while I made my coffee so they'd be nice and hot when the time came. But I decided that first, I would flat iron my hair completely, in order to make the hot roller curls ultra-behaved, rather than mixed up with funny, frizzy corkscrews left over from those natural pieces that refuse to be bossed around.

Well, that didn't exactly work. I mean, once my hair was straight, it wanted to STAY straight. (EGADS, right?!) I took out the rollers and my locks had barely bent themselves!! My hair didn't look like a '40s siren -- it looked like a bad flat iron experiment!

I questioned what to do. Get in the shower and start over? Nah -- then my hair would go back to totally natural and that wasn't what I wanted either. What I WANTED was a little more body and wave. Then a genius idea struck me. I turned on BOTH of my showers all the way to scalding hot (I have two of them -- a tub shower and a stand up shower!), shut the bathroom door and let the bathroom fill with steam so thick, I couldn't see my triumphant grin in the mirror.

Take THAT, hair! I thought to myself, watching my tresses start to rise to the occasion. Once I had a little more "oomph" in the 'do, I turned off the showers, exhaled the steam and ....hot rolled my hair again. This time it worked! HELLO CURLS!

So, yeah, winter has its good points. I can't say that I've loved wearing so many clothes this week, but I've definitely had a good time with my beauty routine. And as any woman knows, a breakthrough in a beauty routine is certainly worth blogging about.

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! 

Tinder is the Night.

Don't laugh at me. Lord knows I've blogged before about how I can't stand dating websites -- and I've gone and joined the silliest one out there.

That's right; I've joined TINDER.

Before you wrinkle your noses and declare Tinder to be nothing but a meat market, hear this! I actually like it. I mean, it's a lot of fun, all the swiping right and finding out that someone else ALSO swiped right. Still, that doesn't mean there aren't any pitfalls.

Here's a short list of informative tidbits that I thought might be useful to others who are single and considering joining Tinder. Note that I just joined yesterday. Note, too, that I haven't been on any actual dates yet, but I have gotten asked out a total of three times and scored a phone number.

1. The ego boost can be significant. Simply put up a few decent pictures of yourself and collect the compliments. But beware -- Tinder is notoriously shallow and you'll be disappointed in yourself for swiping left when a guy has less than stellar teeth, a large nose, weird hair or the like. Since Tinder doesn't really do the whole extensive bio thing (bios tend to be short; all mine says is "wordsmith, social butterfly") people weed through the list based on looks. If you're uncomfortable with that idea, it might give you pause.

2. If you're anything like me and you simply like meeting new people to have a text-a-thon with, you'll adore Tinder and become an immediate convert. Heck, I've already alerted my ex-roommate Dana to the idea that she should join!! I'm a WITNESS, y'all.

3. Unless your fellow single gals are on Tinder too (shout-outs to my one friend, who shall remain anonymous, for suggesting it to me) they are going to tell you that it's all about sex, because that's what the media and everyone else says it's about. And my friends, in particular, are concerned because, well, we all know what an asexual diva I can be. Plus, some of them have their own sordid stories and are now anti-Tinder. Still, it's like any other brand of romantic bitterness; you have to learn from your own mistakes, not your BFF's mishaps. I've reassured my gal posse that I'm just having fun. It's like my mom's favorite song from the 1980s by Adam Ant -- "Desperate but Not Serious."

4. Like other apps, Tinder can take up a lot of time. The swipe game is like crack, and sometimes you don't even realize that you've swiped through every dang body in your area already. Then, once you have about a billion matches, you're stuck answering everyone. I made the mistake of sending messages to about six dudes yesterday -- and then about six more dudes messaged me. Right now I'm talking to more guys than I know what to do with, and they're all asking me the same "get to know you" questions. If I had a dollar for every time I've typed "I'm the editor of Mount Pleasant Magazine! I'm from Florence! I'm a writer!" in the last 24 hours, I'd probably be able to take the rest of the holiday season off from work.

5. As I've mentioned before, online dating is like renting an apartment in Charleston. If you don't answer these dudes right away, they're likely to swipe right on some other babe and schedule a lunch date for that very instant, leaving you in the dust of a forgotten conversation thread. Last night, for example, a dude asked me to meet him out somewhere, after I told him two seconds before that I'd just washed my face. I replied that I normally cleanse my face "in order to go to bed, not to put makeup back on and go hooch it up somewhere." He was mildly amused by my wit, but, as it is with most men, his need for booty was stronger than his need for a clever woman.

6. Since bios are not really important - or are nonexistent - on Tinder, I've been trying to be as real and as interesting as possible in my conversations with various dudes. I told one guy I liked his chicken wing picture, for example. I told another guy that I'm "an idealist with just the right amount of snark." I don't want people thinking I'm just another girl they swiped right on, ya know? I mean, they don't know WHO they're dealing with until they actually go out with me ...but I'll save those stories for another post.

So stay tuned, everyone. I think this is going to be fairly interesting. And if it all blows up in my face and I end up hating Tinder, I hope I don't rain on another newbie's parade.