From my “For Writers, By Writers” Series

I bow deeply to pro-bloggers who keep the art of blogging closest to its journaling roots.

My favorite pro-blogger is the erasible “Pioneer Woman,” Ree Drummond.

Here are the five reasons why “Pioneer Woman” swallows entire mornings.

1. Personal. It’s the way that blogs are intended. Ree slathers her life all over the pages, including her otherwise quiet husband, her son’s inability to say “juice bag,” (think letter ‘d’) and her basset, Charlie. Why should we care about this woman and her family?

We shouldn’t except that she’s…

2. Funny. Remember “The Carol Burnett Show”? (No? If not, watch this sometime!)

Ree channels the smart humor that Carol brought to her own universe.

Nothing too rich, or too heavy.

Nothing rude (well, a belch here and there, ok?) Just the sort of ticklish joy that comes with everyday life.

It isn’t all chuckle-chuckle. Ree’s been known to douse readers in tears and share her heartbreaks too.

She lays it bare, showing the tippy balance of working life, one where Mom is teaching and taking a million photos and baking and posing for magazines and chasing dogs and keeping Dad happy and also just trying to be like “normal,” whatever that is.

3. Images. The best blog post I have read in a long time — anywhere — Ree showed how she put together her children’s book, featuring basset Charlie.

It got over 700 comments. Her average is in the 100+ comment range, FYI.

The key to this post was combining short burst of text with Ree’s images, both of Charlie, and of the book making process.

Her eye is sharp, and she does not skimp on the number of images in her posts. This kind of “writing” truly keys into the changing desires of her reading public.

4. “Organized”. When you hit Ree’s home page, your eyes dart from here to there. What to eat –er, read! — first?

Menu titles and features jump out at you, and when you follow, you find each rich in content, compelling with a single word.

This is done with fewer menus (seven only with straight-forward titles like “Confessions” and “Homeschooling” and “Cooking”) and lots-o submenus.

However, that’s not where the key organization comes in. Look at a recipe page and just look at the beautiful, organized clutter of this page! You immediately get a sense of what it must be like to live in Ree’s house and to search for cumin in her pantry.

I can’t find it, but who cares!  Let’s make brownies!

It is PACKED with color and choices: images and links and hooks to stories, to recent recipes at the top, an photo of her and link to about page, a box that links to ALL of the recipes.

As you scroll down the post, you are enticed by widgets featuring “16-Minute Meals,” “Cowboy Food,” “Cowgirl Food” and more.

“Pioneer Woman” is a vortex of compelling content.

5. Niche-plus. To launch themselves into the universe of “not just blogger,” bloggers hear all the time that we need to connect with a certain audience, using SEO optimization and keyword content.

All this is fancy way of saying: how do we use the blog to say the one or two things we are really good at saying?

I want to ask Ree sometime how she started… maybe with homeschooling and cooking?

Those do seem to be important niche areas that draw online audiences. But it’s clear to see she’s bounded into writing, photography, and style blogging too. Not to mention the meta-content of her blog that makes it so perfect: family.

But Ree’s blog is truly successful because it isn’t TOO niche. The blog seems to overflow with her creative life, and throb with all the things she has to share with the world.

Not the least of which are her son’s inability to say “juice bag”.

Who is your favorite blogger? I’d love to hear so I can check her or him out!

*****

Want to follow Ree on Twitter? She’s super.

How ’bout her adorable book about Charlie? Click the picture over there!!

*****

How does your audience read your blog? Wanna know? Check this out!

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Grateful this morning, at 4:30 a.m., for Colin’s choice of 52″ inch HD.

Eschewing Jon Stewart’s cynicism, for blogs on exotic millinery.
Sharing the Royal Love feels sweet, pure; held whole
A soft, cold, unpeeled orange.

I am a Londoner again, today, splayed spread eagle
In St. James Park at noontime–
Between meetings–
Hogging first slices of sunshine
After a long winter’s damp.

I’ll go back to work.
I’ll go back to arms’ lengths and
Cigarette laced multi-pint dinners and
Hiding myself inside the Metro
Inside the Circle Line.

But today I am
Lying still, veins hot,
American-open and streaming the beat
Of squawking tourists,
Greedy pelican, and diesel revvings.

Beyond the ice cream cart queue
Where I’m knocked flat by pageant and love
Buckingham winks and waves.

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I swam the full length, freestyle, for the first time last night.

I came up at the deep end to the cheers of Latoya, Paul, and Dan — my support team — at Flood Pool.

On the way home, I heard Faith Middleton interviewing one of my favorite environmentalist writers, Bill McKibben. Only he wasn’t discussing the enviroment.

Apparently he took a year off from that work when he was in his late 30s to train to become a long distance cross country skier. A PRO competitive one. Even though he was just a normal guy before that.

I sometimes wonder what I have in me. Even just as I was finishing that length — one I thought I could never do — I was thinking it. Then, on the radio, here was one of my most trusted voices saying he tried this sport because he wanted to see how far he could push himself, what were his limits.

When Colin said he wanted me to train for a triathalon with him, I laughed. HA! Who does he think I am?

Then I started asking myself that question hmm.

Who do I think I am?

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I’ll be the first to say that I love James Franco. His mute performances on SNL skit “What Up With That?” always tickle me.

But let’s be real. He wasn’t the REAL star of the Oscar duo last night.

There’s going to be all sorts of mumbling and grumbling about the Oscar hosting duo in the news today. The producers want to keep the prestige of the penultimate awards show, but the keep glancing over at all the fun everyone is having at the Golden Globes and think: I want to be the funny guy!

They tried too hard this year, trying to bow to Oscar greats like Kirk Douglas while roping in the youth. Big surprise. The split personality didn’t work.

What did work?

Anne Hathaway.

Although it was hard to tell because of the many flubs and blunders of the producers who were  very busy trying to make everyone — including themselves — the star of the show. (Did you you see one of those producers? That weird little guy that ABC’s anchor Robin Roberts interviewed right before the beginning of the show? Spielberg mopped his brow. That should have been cut.)

Rule of writing: write for your audience. Which I suppose is a tough one, when your audience is, well 1 billion people worldwide.

Except that this audience does have something in common. The audience of the Oscars is people of ALL ages who love Hollywood.

They love the established stars, and they love the glamour, and they love to see the up-and-comers getting their foot in the game.

They loved it when Cuba Gooding Jr went madly insane and won his place in the establishment, they love it when perennial nominee Randy Newman sings — again — and when old standbys like Jeff Bridges make career comebacks.

They love that Justin Timberlake made his move to the screen and that there always seems to be one young ingenue amazing us every year.  In 1999 is was Natalie Portman… look where she is now! We can hardly wait to follow the careers of Jennifer Lawrence and Hallie Steinfeld.

They love Hollywood so much, they sat through YEARS of Debbie Allen’s choreography without a mutiny.

Why is it so hard for the producers to write a beautiful, fun evening with this in mind?

The evening would have worked better if they didn’t try so hard to “appeal” to people, because that never works. Anyone who has every TRIED to impress a girl or boy they like knows just who well that works. (Hollywood should know that too since it’s the plot of several trillion romance and teen films).

It’s the Host, Stupid

The reason Ricky Gervais works, the reason that Billy Crystal worked (and Steve Martin too, though in a different way) and Bob Hope in his time, is they are truly great at what they do. Funny people who took their job — to entertain for the evening– seriously, and who contributed to writing an evening that isn’t about apps and Twitter, but about great showmanship.

Get a performer — young or old — who connects with the audience through humor and a flaying love of film and Hollywood– and you  have your host.

Why were they flying the obviously pre-occupied Yale phD student James Franco across the country when Anne Hathway, clearly, had the job covered?

On stage by herself, she looked comfortable, she ad-libbed with finesse, and she had the beauty and the charm of Gracie Allen. Next to James Franco, the chemistry we expected (of Burns and Allen) was empty and absent.

Anne Hathaway filled the spotlight just fine. Next year, the Academy should do what they should have this year: give her a solo gig and leave the lame iPhone app jokes out. But they probably won’t, which will be their loss.

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The #reverb10 final prompt from Molly O’Neill asked “What is your core story?”

Being a huge fan of The Moth, and Eddie Izzard, and loving to hear people rattle off stories about their hilarious trip here and there —  and being a writer naturally — I am perplexed and in awe of storytellers.

I can WRITE something. I can BLAH BLAH BLAH about whatever and it usually ends with me saying “So then it was so funny because I saw the cow and it ATE the shoe but it wasn’t mine but I guess you had to be there…hehheh”

But I am not sure I would yet call myself a Storyteller.

So this prompt, when it hit my inbox, stopped me in my tracks. First yah gotta KNOW the story, then ya gotta TELL the story. And I am wondering which part of that I fear so much that I am dancing around it right now.

Well, we’ll see. I am just going to try it out and see what come out. I have NO IDEA where this is going to go.

Here goes.

Enough is Enough

by me.

Once Upon a Time…

…lived a young girl named Elizabeth who came from a big loud fun family. All Elizabeth ever wanted was to be NOTICED.

When she was little, Elizabeth acted out dramas at the dinner table over the prospect of eating a piece of lettuce. The drama always ended with a loud bedroom door bang! The family LAUGHED at her, but she couldn’t hear it over her mournful wails.

When she was older, realizing that nothing she did at home would get her what she desired, she put on her best “DRAMA QUEEN!” sash — awarded to her by her mother — and went to the local Junior Theatre productions in search of what she needed.

Like most girls, Elizabeth wanted to be the star, the PRINCESS in the dramas, but she never got those parts. She always ended up playing the scullery maid, the one-liner queen, the silly eagle, the dancing donkey. Oh my! How would she EVER get noticed dressed as Sam the Eagle under this enormous beak?

In high school, Elizabeth sang in the choir (MEZZO-soprano). She got a part in “Annie” (as a homeless Hooverville-ite) and was made CO-editor of the school newspaper. It was the same song and dance. With everything Elizabeth did, she felt proud at first, but when she looked around, no one seemed to notice. No one cared. She would never be the best.

Years passed and the girl grew up and went out in the world. She still wanted people to notice her. So after college, she took a job she didn’t really like at ALL. But EVERYONE thought the job was very important. Even her brother LOVED to tell his friends that his little sister was a “TELEVISION DIRECTOR!!” She worked the late hours gracelessly, shouting at her colleagues in her in misery. Exhausted, she realized that STILL no one was paying any attention. No matter how loud she got.

So the girl drove around in her car and cried and cried. And after looking back at all her desires and her so-called failures, she decided:

Enough is enough.

And she told the moon-faced Chinese executive producer that she quit.

He hardly noticed when she left.

Then girl wanted to write, so she took up freelance work.

The girl preferred to be of service, so she started waiting tables.

The girl liked school, so she studied and completed a Master’s.

The girl wanted her own space, so she bought her own house.

Her life wasn’t perfect and she was still unhappy sometimes and wanted people to notice her. But instead of looking out, she started to look in. The girl used writing like a mirror and it helped. SHE noticed, after all.

She started to slow down sometimes. To sit and do yoga. She started to listen to friends who cared about her and believe them when they said: “you are fine the way you are.” She also started to listen to herself.

The girl was done playing the field, but was lonely. So she went out looking and brought home the perfect husband.

And one day, she and the husband decided they’d grown tired of their workaday life. They put everything on the lawn and sold it. And moved with nothing but a couple chairs and their favorite pants to London.

The girl and her husband were sad they couldn’t make their own family, so one day they said: “Let’s make a family anyway.” And they found a way to bring that family home.

The girl still wishes people would notice her now and then. Now and then she still tunes her singing voice and busks for a compliment when she feels the need.

But more often now she is pretty sure that enough is enough.

*****

This post is one of my favorites ever and is part of my “For Writers, By Writers” series.

What do you think? Who or what would you like to hear from? Let me know!

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Cinnamon rolls have to be one of my favorite foods.

Over at Pioneer Woman this morning I was drooling at her recipe for Chocolate Chip Cookie Sweet Rolls. The recipe even starts from the yeast, and not from a blue can you tear paper off of and bang on the counter’s edge.

Man, I like Ree’s blog almost as much as I like the idea of making those rolls for myself and my family. I mean, look at the amount of effort it took to take the photos of that process. That is thoughtful attention to detail.

I reckon I can see why Ree gets hundreds of comments on her blog… she does good work and she makes it look so effortless. Usually that is the sort of person I want to have killed, but for some reason, Pioneer Woman speaks to my soul. I mean, have you seen the way she treats a toothpaste tube?

Anyway, we all have some skill like that. That something we twiddle away at mindlessly while other people stare helplessly, longingly. Playing the guitar, knitting a sweater, downshifting into third.

Just this morning, when I am craving a hot sweet roll, Ree has got one over on everybody.

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Only once do we have the chance to ACTUALLY be brand new.

We arrive on the earth, sticky and discombobulated, completely unprepared for all this light and noise.

From then on, we are experienced. We’ve seen it all. So we have to do all manner of contortions to reinvent ourselves.

The book I am reading right now is sort of a self-help for writers. It’s called “Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper,” by an author I really admire. She has many books out that are very successful yet totally unique. You’ll recognize them instantly by their bright colors and hand-written text. She goes by SARK.

In the book, she tells the story of one of her most famous published works. You’ve probably seen it. It’s a poster called “How To Be an Artist.” The story is set in her “magic cottage” where she started out, before she was ever published.

“It (the “How to Be an Artist” poster) was my colorfully written statement that we are all artists of Life. I took this crooked, color full page to a store in San Francisco. They also had a catalog, and agreed to publish a photo of the poster once to see if anybody liked it. The orders flooded in and I ended up making 11,000 by hand. There are now over one million Artist posters in print.” — SARK

Something about this story whispers in my ear, with reverb that travels into the deepest recesses. It’s where I hide my fears. The places I am certain I will fail, so I leave well enough alone. The place where I conjure up another witty or even snarky remark about Someone Else to distract myself and anyone from my calling which has not been satisfied.

Everyday, for any reason, it seems, we are offered the chance to reinvent ourselves. We can suddenly become parents, or pop idols, or in the case of SARK, an artist creating exactly the message she desires, whilst still being able to pay the rent. I am working on something like that, I guess, (though I only now managed to add this sentence, in a second edit).

You know that feeling you get, standing  in line for the tall fast roller coaster? Your legs melting from the core and your stomach rolling?

That’s exactly what I am feeling right now. Telling you.

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As a professor (all right! just an adjunct…) of rhetoric, I can spot and identify logical fallacy when I see one.

So did the awesome BlagHag blogger Jen McCreight when a Muslim cleric managed to twist the logic so profoundly of protecting women from their own immodesty  that he accidentally predicted that free-moving, free-ranging cellulite would induce seismic activity.

And, hence from the mind of Blag Hag came BoobQuake: the best use of accidental media breast-hype since the wardrobe malfunction Super Bowl XXXVIII.

I myself, did not partake in “Boobquake.” Why? Two reasons… Ignorance and the fact that I do NOT have much on top that would stir Muslim men and “lead them astray” — even if I did accidentally walk underneath a tipping bucket of water on a day I went braless due to bandages impeding my thumbs from working complicated hook-eyes.

Besides, I didn’t read McCreight’s fine print soon enough: that on Boobquake 04-26-10,  I could have shifted my immodest clothing around “back” to reveal my better-cleavage. It turns out that McCreight didn’t discriminate against the less-boobalicious of  her sisters. If I’d wanted, I could have worn my plumber-i-est pants of all! I guess the term “boobquake” was really just a catchall– a much more appealing choice than say “ass-nami” or “thigh-nado.”

Digressions aside, this kind of feminism really kicks it for me. I mean, obviously the asking for equality isn’t really working anymore. Instead, I think we can all agree it’s best to just keep on tricking men into giving us what we want, and using our anatomy to do so.

I mean, I think Colbert reminds us wisely that we can’t pretend that the boys don’t love the “milkshake!” By getting them to watch our boobs and butts jiggle up and down — for a cause! — who knows? Maybe we could finally get those extra bathroom stalls at the concert venues that we’ve been asking for!

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The truth is, we all need someone like Howlin’ Mad Murdock to swing in, now and then, in his robe and fluffy slippers to cause an awesome distraction while we eat the rest of the brownies.

Or maybe someone like Face, to charm the pants off of manager in the grocery store. She won’t be able to RESIST him, and will open another check out, just for us.

Somedays, it’s B.A. Baracus we need to step in. He’s gonna the pity the fool who doesn’t use their turn signal in front of you, or slows down so much you miss that light. (Isn’t it fun to watch when he presses his gold chains against their driver’s side window?).

But most of all, we all need at little Hannibal in our life, to chew confidently on his cigar, pull on those leather gloves and put his brilliant plan in action.

Face: [the team's plane is starting to malfunction] Uh, Murdock, what’s going to happen?
Murdock: Looks like we’re going to crash.
Face: No, what’s *really* going to happen?
Murdock: Looks like we’re going to crash and die.

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Note: Version three of this blog post

I am a huge admirer of Stacy DeBroff. This woman, the CEO of Momcentral.com, is a marketing genius and a fantastic business model built around one of her own passions– being a mom.

And yeah, I’m a little jealous. She’s wildly successful, spending many early mornings with Matt Lauer! Besides, jealousy is normal –  culturally woman are built to compete, even if our talent sets are incompatible.

Despite all that, I am not that bummed that Stacy DeBroff emailed me personally to tell me I could no longer be a part of her world. (Previously I was reviewing products for Momcentral.com.)

Stacy took issue with my post from July 28. In her email to me she said I “trashed” the products they had offered to review and did not respect “any relationship” I had with them.

I responded to Stacy, reiterating my view on blog integrity, and the blurring of the line between “promotion” and “reviews” (through the venue of mostly-amateur bloggers plied with cash and gifts). She didn’t reply, so I want to offer her and the tiny world that reads my blog the follow advice.

A Bloggers’s Guide to Ethical Product Reviews

1. No you aren’t a journalist. Obviously. But if you are given a product to review, review it. You are getting paid $20 or so (maybe more depending on actual retail price of that camera they sent you), so WORK! Get to know what you talking about. Answer the following two questions.

• Is it good? Say why. Readers need details!
• Is it crap? Say why. Be useful for heavens sake!

2. Remember, no matter what airhead promoters tell you: all press is good press. So don’t worry if the review is negative. Maybe Cinnabon won’t send you anymore snack bars, but your waistline will thank you for it.

Your welcome Stacy. No charge for this post, btw.

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