Look, Ma! Another byline, my first with the estimable Professional Writers of Austin, which, by the way, if you are an Austin-based writer and you haven’t joined yet, you really should before your failure to do so has you reaching for the bleach, which is the sort of thing writers do when they don’t affiliate themselves with other writers and thus doom themselves to the ravenous abysses the plying of our solitary craft invariably summons:
And hey, while you’re at it, check out the masthead. See any familiar assistant editors?
My horn doesn’t toot so much as it screeches.
I have started making lists again. I had thought that my abandonment of such in recent weeks (months, even? I doubt I could ever go that long without making a list) was an indication of progress, a step in the right direction toward being less uptight and less prone to rages when things don’t go according to plan (which is, of course, always). Never mind that. There’s nothing like a simple list to take a frenetic flurry of ideas, plans, nagging tasks, and of course the infuriating tasks that slip into consciousness and flit back to the periphery like sly eels wending their way through the ocean’s murky depths, ensuring they are only ever actually remembered after they need to have been accomplished, and always, always when you are in no position to do anything about it, and make it all seem attainable, achievable, the previous eels now bowling pins lined up and waiting to be felled by the velocity of your ambition. Lists make picket fences of what seemed protruding fangs. Lists, lists, glorious lists, how I love you so.
Speaking of love, my Moo business cards arrived in the mail today, and I love, love, love them: a series of beautiful vintage typewriters on good, solid paper. They make me feel like I need to live up to them, like I need to be the sort of writer who deserves to have them and hand them out. In fact, I love everything about Moo: the timeliness of the delivery, the quality of their wares, and even their marketing shenanigans, which could have—and in so many other hands, would have—ended up being self-consciously cutesy and therefore insufferable, but manage to be genuinely adorable (Little Moo, the Print Robot! Awwwwww! Or is this some deranged permutation of a biological clock rearing its ugly head?). They’re not the cheapest kids on the block, but they’re not the costliest by a long shot, either, and to my untrained eye, it seems to be a good value for the money. No more shredded Moleskine pages by way of business cards for me!
No comments:
Post a Comment